Horseplay
by Spense
Summary: Following a series of devastating events, Benton struggles to rebuild his relationship with Jonny, and to adjust to his son's new found sense of individuality as something other than just a member of the Quest Team.


DISCLAIMER: I do not have or own JQ, nor do I have any rights to them. I have no affiliation with Hanna-Barbera, Time Warner, or the Cartoon Network; I am writing this purely out of love and respect for JQ. This is written strictly by a fan, for the enjoyment of other fans, and I have received no payment or other compensation, so don't sue me! Any other characters that may appear belong to me.  
  
NOTE: Thanks to Meach and Helen for the excellent beta-reading. CATEGORY: Family RATING: G ARCHIVE: Suze may have. Fanfiction.net may have. Anyone else must ask.  
  
SUMMARY: Following a series of devastating events, Benton struggles to rebuild his relationship to Jonny, and to adjust to his son's new found sense of individuality as something other than just a member of the Quest Team.  
  
HORSEPLAY By Spense January 2003  
  
NOTE: Please note that I have taken some liberties with the Pennsylvania National Horse Show, the USA Equestrian Prix De States format, and added a Power and Speed warm up class the day before, for the sake of the story. In addition, I've also taken some liberties with the layout of the arena on this show, and on some of the other shows mentioned. Otherwise, the technical information noted here is accurate.  
  
That mentioned, I hope that this story gives a little bit of insight as to what is involved in the world of US horse show competition, and specifically, Junior riders (that being kids 17 years old and under) on the 'A' National Hunter & Jumper horse show circuit. Further information can be found at the USA Equestrian website, or, for good information in a less technical format, the BIGeq.com, a site specifically designed for Junior 'A' System riders.  
  
  
  
  
  
The dapple gray mare trotted out, stretching down and forward for the rein contact, reaching for the contact of his hands. Sliding his hands slightly forward, he allowed her to stretch her back further, while encouraging her to reach forward from behind, bringing her hocks further under her, and improving the quality of the trot. She literally strutted, extending her forelegs with a gorgeous straight sweep from the shoulder, and pointed her toes.  
  
The feeling was incredible. The dapple gray mare's back lifted, and Jonny Quest felt like he was being propelled into the air on the upbeat of the posting trot. He tightened his legs slightly in order to remain tight in the saddle, and keep his position.  
  
"WONDERFUL, JORDAN!" came the shouting voice of Mr. Campbell, Jonny's riding instructor here at Campbell-Martin Sporthorses, as well as owner of the horse he was mounted on. "Go ahead and walk. Ride like that, and you'll be winning the Hack at Del Mar next weekend."  
  
Jonny smiled to himself. That was the one piece that had been eluding them all Spring. The Under Saddle class in the Small Junior Hunter Division, 15 years old and under. They'd been champion in this division at several show this spring, including one of the shows at the HITS (Horse Shows in the Sun) winter circuit in Indio, California, but sometimes they were Reserve Champion, or sometimes, they just didn't make the grade because their hack was rusty. But now . . .  
  
Mr. Campbell came up to give the lop-eared mare a pat. "You've really found the key, Jordan. We've just never been able to get her motivated to move like that. But she'll do it for you. Excellent. Take her on a trail ride." He waved at the trails beckoning off the open gate of the outdoor arena.  
  
Jonny looked questioningly at him.  
  
Mr. Campbell laughed. "Go. You both have worked really hard. We go back on the road in three days, and the work will get tough again."  
  
Jonny grinned again, as Mr. Campbell waved him off across the jump dotted arena to the trails up into the hills, as he turned the opposite direction to head back into the barn.  
  
* * *  
  
The show season had been a whirlwind for Jonny. At 13, he had been one of the youngest riders competing in the top Junior Divisions, and was fast becoming one of the top in the nation. He'd met lots of other like minded kids his age, although most of the others riding at the Junior level (17 and under) were older than him, usually 16 or 17, it didn't matter much - he'd generally been around people older than him for most of his life. He was making a ton of friends, and had done well enough to qualify for the Junior Hunter and Jumper Divisions, all of the major equitation medal finals, as well as the Prix de States zone jumper finals at the fall indoor shows back east.  
  
The Indoor Season on the East Coast consisted of the crème de la crème of Hunter and Jumper horse shows, and were the wrap-up of the long show season. You had to qualify to attend these shows. National awards would be determined following them, and Jonny was in hot contention for several. At lot of kids who rode at these levels as juniors went on to participate in international competitions as adults, such as the Olympics and the World Equestrian Games. Jonny Quest, having just turned 14, two weeks before the fall indoor season began, would be riding the anchor leg for Zone 10- California, Junior Jumper Team at the Pennsylvania National Horse Show, in his first year of showing in the Juniors. He just couldn't believe it.  
  
* * *  
  
Jonny couldn't contain his elation, as he rode back into the cavernous arena. He could feel the energy surrounding him. As the particulars were announced, he hopped off as the steward spread the championship wool cooler over Tara.  
  
"First Place in the Pennsylvania National Horse Show Junior Hunter Classic goes to Tiara . . ."  
  
Jonny was given a leg back up again onto his horse. He settled back into his saddle, with the unfamiliar feeling of sitting on wool, and kicked his toe around to find his stirrup. Locating them, and rucking up the extra wool of the award dress sheet, now on his horse, he felt secure again.  
  
". . . Owned by Campbell-Martin Sporthorses, of Pebble Beach, California . . ."  
  
Now that he was settled again, he unbuckled his helmet, and removed it, tucking it under his arm, as was the tradition for gentleman when accepting prizes.  
  
". . . Ridden by Jordan Adams, also of Pebble Beach, California . . ."  
  
The steward affixed the blue ribbon onto the left side of Tara's bridle, causing her to tilt her nose, and try to grab at the long streamers for a nibble. Jonny laughed at her and twitched the right rein lightly, reminding her of the business at hand. He could practically hear her grumble as she subsided.  
  
" . . . In addition, Jordan Adams received the Best Junior Rider award for the Pennsylvania National Horse Show this year. Congratulations, Jordan."  
  
Jonny beamed as he ducked his head to receive the Best Junior Rider sash, and then straightened to accept the bouquet.  
  
"Second Place in our Junior Hunter Classic goes to . . ."  
  
"Jordan, Hey! Over here!" Jonny looked up obediently to the photographer as the win photo was taken. Abigail Martin and Mr. Campbell standing proudly in front of him, as well as the sponsors holding various trophies and prizes. The flash blinded him for a moment, then they were done, and were dispersing to award the remaining ribbons. Abigail grinned at him, as she and Mr. Campbell headed for the gate of the arena. He grinned back. He'd get a chance to see them after the victory gallop.  
  
"Third Place . . ."  
  
Jonny gave Tara another heartfelt pat as she stretched her nose down to itch it on her foreleg, then shake her head slightly at the ribbon attached to her bridle. He looked up absently, idly scanning the huge crowd in the arena, and looked right into the shocked eyes of his father, as though drawn by gravity and a strong magnetic pull.  
  
Jonny felt his face freeze, as he stared at the stunned face looking back at him. There was no place to go. He was in the center of the indoor arena at the Pennsylvania National Horse Show, with absolutely no place to hide. Shit!  
  
His eyes took in the equally taken aback gazes of Race, Hadji, and Jessie, and he only had time to think 'what in hell are they doing here?' before the music started, and he went into auto-pilot, putting his helmet back on, and setting Tara into a canter, then up into a hand-gallop to lead out the lap and a half victory gallop. Later, Jonny thought it was a really good thing he could practically do this in his sleep, or he probably would have fallen off.  
  
For their part, the group in Benton's box had started in abject shock the moment Jonny had removed his helmet. The glint of the lights off his bright blond hair, and the unmistakable, huge, lopsided grin were truly inimitable. But they knew for certain that it was Jonny, the moment his gaze met theirs. The instant of shocked recognition was momentary, but unquestionable. Then the moment was broken as the music came on, and the victory gallop began. Jonny and the gray horse flashed by, close enough to touch from Benton's ringside box, then he was gone. It was over quickly, and the file of horses, led by Jonny and the gray mare were exiting the ring.  
  
"By God, I'm going to kill him for this stunt," Race growled in anger, and as the shock wore off, and he and Benton were moving as one, and struggling for the exit.  
  
"Campbell-Martin Sporthorses," Hadji muttered to himself, over and over.  
  
"Pebble Beach!?" Jessie added, incredulously.  
  
At the out gate, an ashen faced Jonny exited the arena, as Mr. Campbell and Abigail joined him, grinning and congratulating him on the big win. Their first indication that something was wrong, was when Jonny swayed in the saddle. As the bouquet of flowers began to slip from his hand, their smiles faded.  
  
"Jordan?" Mark Campbell began, but Abby was quicker.  
  
"Julie! Take Tara back to the barn. Mark - get a water bottle, and help me here," were her clipped orders as she moved to help Jonny from the saddle. "Come on Jordan," she said softly, and she supported him to the ground, then over to a bench on the side of the warm up ring. Jonny saw Tara's bright white tail gently swinging side to side as she disappeared, led away by their competent groom, Julie, then put his head between his knees to try to stop the spinning.  
  
"You're okay, Jordan," Abby's calm, quiet voice was saying, and Jonny's heart rate slowed a little.  
  
Jonny heard the concerned chatter from around him, as his buddies and team members from the upcoming Zone Jumper Championships converged on him. "Can he ride? He anchors us in the Prix De States. He HAS to ride. Are you alright?"  
  
"Just a minute, Jennifer, give him a moment. We don't even know what's wrong," Abigail's voice was calm, off in the distance.  
  
"Breath deep, Jordan," Mr. Campbell's voice was right in his ear.  
  
The spinning in his head started to subside, and Jonny began to feel normal. He lifted his head, and looked into the worried eyes of his mentors. Mr. Campbell, about his father's age, and a lifelong horseman, was watching him carefully. He reminded Jonny of Race, as he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
Abigail Martin, an auburn haired woman in her late twenties, and Mr. Campbell's former student, and now partner and professional rider for the Campbell-Martin Sporthorses breeding and training operations, was kneeling beside him, looking concerned.  
  
Jonny smiled at her and stretched his back, deliberately tuning out the incident that had caused his spell. Security at the barns and back gate would take care of that little problem. He'd deal with it later. There was too much on the line tonight, with the Power and Speed warm up class for the Prix De States the next day.  
  
"Okay?" Abigail asked. "Just too much going on today, and not enough to eat?" She asked, a realistic assumption.  
  
Jonny nodded, sipping the water he had been handed, and leaned back again the wall with a deep breath.  
  
"Are you going to be able to walk the course?" Mr. Campbell asked Jonny quietly.  
  
Jonny nodded again.  
  
"Okay, guys, disperse. It'll be okay. You're going to need to walk as well," Mr. Campbell gently herded his friends away, as Abby whispered that she was going to get him something to eat, and he needed to just sit and eat, while the course was being changed. She said that she'd warm up Jonny's jumper, Percy, for him.  
  
Jonny just nodded again, and closed his eyes trying to focus on the next class. But his family's face kept crowding in the way. The question arose once again. What in hell were THEY doing here?  
  
* * *  
  
The frustrated Quest clan, minus Race, gathered once again in Benton's box. Security had indeed thwarted them from getting back to the barns, and to Jonny. But after seeing that Jonny was scheduled to ride in the next class, they returned to the box. Race, however, stayed behind to make a few phone calls.  
  
* * *  
  
Jonny had indeed managed to tune out all that was coming down around him, and to focus on the job at hand. By the time he was warmed up and on deck for his round in the Junior Jumper Power and Speed class, he felt like himself again. He knew he'd have food for thought later tonight, and he had to decide what to do about it, but now was not the time.  
  
As Jonny's turn came up, and the paddock master called his name, Jonny entered the ring, all business. The fences were significantly different from the Hunter type fences used for the Hunter classic he'd won on Tara. For this class, they were a good foot bigger, and the ring looked like it had been strewn with pick-up-sticks by a giant's hand. Because of the tight confines of the indoor arena, the jumps came up significantly faster than in the large outdoor venues. Now, instead of style and smoothness as in the Hunter divisions, his horse was being judged on his scope. In other words, as the class title described: power, that being the ability to jump high, and speed. Faults such as rails down, or refusals, would be converted to seconds. Therefore, instead of a jump-off, as in a regular jumper class format, the fastest converted first round time would win.  
  
Jonny smiled tightly to himself. He and Percy were good at this. They had been practically unbeaten all summer.  
  
As the announcer finished announcing that Persuasion, ridden by Jordan Adams, owned by Campbell-Martin Sporthorses, out of Pebble Beach, California, was now on course, the whistle had blown and Jonny was off.  
  
Percy was as different to ride and look at, as was possible from Tara. He was a dark bay, sensitive, hot thoroughbred, compared to the quiet, big bodied, relatively small, Dutch-bred mare. Percy knew his job, and he loved it. It was up to Jonny to control that exuberance.  
  
Percy bounded into a canter, flashed through the timers, starting the clock, and Jonny held him to the base of the first fence, a maximum height blue and white vertical. They curled up and over, and Percy was away in an instant upon landing. Jonny got into the rhythm of the round. Turn and jump, turn and jump. He entered a series of related distance jumps, knowing from walking the course, that this part, a speed section, was probably the biggest test. From an oxer, three strides on bending track to a triple combination, then five really long strides (he supposed you could fit in six strides - but not if you wanted to win!) to a vertical with a Liverpool under it (thank heavens Percy didn't care about water), then a rollback turn practically on top of the wall of the arena to a huge triple bar set about one stride off the wall.  
  
The oxer was easy, as were the three bending strides. Jonny met the first element of the triple combination, a big oxer, just right. Percy bounded the single long stride to the second element, a vertical, then, at Jonny's command, compressed his stride for the really, really short two strides to the final element of the combination, another oxer. From there, Jonny hit the afterburners, and Percy torn up the five strides, lengthening his stride to meet the Liverpool just right. From the sounds of the announcer and crowd, Jonny knew he was on a winning time. He didn't have time to even glance at the clock on the score board. Not that it really mattered. This late in the show season, he practically had a clock in his head, anyway.  
  
Only a couple of more jumps to go. Jonny took up on the pace to make the roll back turn, and as he balanced Percy back onto his hocks and neatly spun the tight turn towards the crowds, his eye on the triple bar, a flash of red out of his peripheral vision broke his concentration, and he found himself staring practically eye to eye with Race, who was leaning on rails of the arena, where he had stopped to watch, transfixed, as he was returning to the Quest box.  
  
Jonny wrenched his concentration back to the job at hand, and the big triple bar was only a couple of strides away now, but his eye having left the jump, he couldn't see the distance anymore, and couldn't measure Percy's stride to get there correctly. At his sudden lack of guidance, Percy bobbled, breaking rhythm, further confusing Jonny further. He knew that a deviation of only a foot or two could mean absolute disaster.  
  
And then they were there, with too much momentum to stop, and the knife- edge balance required to jump cleanly, gone. Percy tried valiantly, taking off with a huge thrust, and Jonny desperately got out of his way, grabbing mane to keep from hitting Percy in the mouth with his hands as his body tried to catch up with the thrust, and closing his leg and the horse's barrel to give the him support.  
  
But it was a doomed effort. Percy swam through the rails, scissoring one of the poles between his forelegs, which effectively flipped him over into the middle of the jump. Jonny, thrown sideways into the splintering wood, saw a dark shadow over him, as Percy followed him down, then knew nothing more.  
  
* * *  
  
Jonny slowly came too, with the feeling of a soft mattress under him. He was warm, and comfortable, and only wanted to go back to sleep again. But arguing voices kept intruding. The sounds of his Father, Race, Mr. Campbell, and Abigail. That really confused him. He must still be dreaming. Had to be. Those four had never met, as far as he knew, thank god. But Jonny desperately pried his eyes open. He really needed to know. Through an open doorway, he could see all four of them together. Well, it seemed as thought they had met now, damm it all. Jonny shut his heavy eyes. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with, ever. Not at all. But the desperately wanted sleep eluded him, as the voices just seemed to get louder.  
  
"Jonny Quest. Jonathon Benton Quest. He is MY SON!" Benton was shouting in anger. "You have to have known! How could you not!"  
  
"Well, where were you then, all this time? I can't tell you how many equestrian magazine covers he's been on this year! What are you? Blind?" Abigail's voice was a whip crack. Jonny flinched at that. He was glad it wasn't directed at him.  
  
Race's snort. "Like we've ever read those."  
  
"Stuck in your own small world, huh? Well, last I saw in the news, Jonathon Quest was dead. How on earth did you expect us to make the connection!" Abigail spat out in fury.  
  
Mark Campbell added his two cents, the anger in his soft drawl remarkably clear, for all it's quiet tones. "I agree with Abby. The news was full of the kidnapping that took your son's life, Dr. Quest. Why did you not bother to check all avenues, if you truly believed that your son may be alive. And that Jordan is your son? And how can you be sure?"  
  
"Of course I'm sure! I'd know anywhere. And he knew exactly who I was!" Benton snapped back.  
  
"When!?" Abigail's temper was still in clear control of her words.  
  
"In the middle of the arena, tonight. After he won that big class." The anger left Benton's voice, and he sounded tired. "He looked right at me, and he recognized me."  
  
There was a startled silence. Then Abby began, "That explains . . ." then broke off.  
  
Race's voice had lost some of the edge as well, as he asked incredously, "Jonny didn't tell you? You didn't mention anything of his past?" The edge was back again. "And you didn't ask? And where the hell did the name Jordan Adams come from?"  
  
Mr. Campbell answered quietly, "He came to us with that name. Abby's and my silent partner at the farm, Wilson Morris and his wife, take foster kids. They usually have at least one, and right now, it's Jordan. And since Wilson is our partner, and owns and lives on the land that the farm is located, Abigail and I usually put the foster kids to work. It does them a lot of good. Jordan was different, though. He already knew how to ride, and was unbelievably talented to boot, although he'd obviously never competed."  
  
Race asked again into the silence that followed. "But why didn't you ever ask him about his past?"  
  
Jonny could hear Abigail sigh heavily, as Mr. Campbell answered quietly, "Mr. Bannon, Jordan has never said a word. He has never spoken in the year and a half that I've know him."  
  
And in the startled silence that followed those quiet words, Jonny had had enough. He didn't want to hear any more, at all. And his last conscious thought as he dropped off to sleep, was 'oh god, now I'll have to go home.'  
  
* * *  
  
Benton sat next to his sleeping son, just watching him. After a year and a half, the unbelievably miraculous had happened, and he had his son back. He took a sip of coffee, and leaned back in his chair, just watching Jonny sleep. Yet another hospital room, yet another nighttime vigil. So many over the years.  
  
Benton's heart stopped again, as he thought of the fall Jonny had taken tonight. Dear God, he thought he was going to lose him again, after just discovering he was alive. Seeing his son caught between the pieces of the jump, with the big dark horse on top of him, trying to kick his way out of the wreckage. . . Benton shuddered again. What a night.  
  
Jonny had been incredibly lucky. It seemed tonight proved, in so many ways, how resilient he really was. He lived through the wreck of the disastrous jump tonight with only a broken left leg and left ankle, a couple of badly bruised ribs, and a mild concussion. Granted, he was going to be pretty bruised, and unbelievably sore, but still. It could have been so much worse.  
  
Benton leaned forward and lightly stroked Jonny's cheek, just reassuring himself, yet again, that his son was really, truly alive. He thought back to another series of events from a year and a half ago, then resolutely shut that door. He had another chance.  
  
"It will be different this time, son. I promise," he vowed quietly to his sleeping son.  
  
Race, having appeared silently in the doorframe, leaned against it, watching Benton and Jonny. Hearing the soft promise, he closed his eyes, and said a soft wordless prayer of his own. Thinking of Jonny's silence, of more ways than one, over the last 18 months, Race knew this wasn't going to be easy. And thought of Jonny not talking seemed so odd to him. Race smiled slightly to himself. Jonny had always jabbered away, ever since Race met him as a six year old. But a year and a half of silence . . . This was going to be a really long road. Race shifted back to his feet, meaning to quietly ease his way from the room, and leave father and son together. But Benton heard something, as he turned to look at Race.  
  
He glanced one more time at Jonny, sound asleep in the bed, the dark smudges under his eyes accentuated by the white linen on the pillows, before he moved over to join his old friend.  
  
Race held up the black velvet hunt cap Jonny had been wearing when he had gone down with Percy into the ruin of the jump. The velvet was torn, showing the protective shell beneath it. The chin strap dangled down. Benton looked at it again, then inquiringly back to Race.  
  
"Saved his life tonight," Race commented softly. "Mark Campbell just showed me where the shell is cracked. From what I understand, this is the first year that kids are required to be wearing these new types of safety helmet. ASTM/SEI certified, is what he said. If Jonny hadn't been wearing it, he'd be dead."  
  
Benton turn pale at the comment, and took the helmet, and examined it. After pensively fingering the crack in the shell, he handed it back to Race, and said firmly, "We're going home tonight. Jonny doesn't need to be in a hospital. He needs to be home."  
  
Race made as though to comment, then looked at Benton's face again, and thought about the aftermath of what they thought had been Jonny's death eighteen months previously, and kept his mouth shut. Benton was right. They all needed to go home. "Okay. I'll make the arrangements."  
  
As he left the room, Benton went back to his chair next to his son. "I promise, Jonny, things will be different this time. I promise."  
  
* * *  
  
Jonny stirred, then started as the pale orange flames began to lick at his legs, once again. Then they were joined by more, and like a live thing, they began to creep up to his knees, promising oblivion and nothingness. Jonny looked at them a moment, and thought about giving into their promise - it was unbelievably tempting, then tried to struggle away. He wrenched his eyes open, and realized that, yet again, it was just a dream. Catching his breath, he gradually got his bearings, and realized that he was home, in his own bed.  
  
No, scratch that. He was in his bed at his father's house. Not at home. Not at the farm. Jonny closed his eyes in despair, then opened them again to gaze around the room he had once thought of as his. Oh God, it was just the same. Nothing had changed. Nothing here ever would.  
  
* * *  
  
Jonny sat propped up in bed, idly thumbing the remote for his TV. He was truly bored out of his mind. The only bright spots were when Hadji came up to visit him. He and Hadji played Chess for hours on end. Jonny found it restful. Jessie, on the other hand, was making him crazy. She was trying too hard, and was way too cheerful for belief. And she couldn't seem to deal with having a one sided conversation. Finally, she just started steering clear of him. Which suited him just fine.  
  
But, as usual, Hadji, just seemed to go along with it. Hadji didn't ask questions he knew Jonny couldn't answer, and didn't seem to care when Jonny flat out refused to play computer games. In fact, Jessie was the one who just couldn't get past the fact that Jonny hadn't fired up his computer in the entire week he'd been home. She kept trying to set it up next to his bed for him. When she tried to tell him his passwords were still good, and all the new stuff they'd programmed in, Jonny just tuned her out. He'd gotten good at that over the last 18 months. He also managed to ignore the worried looks his Dad and Race kept shooting at him.  
  
Unfortunately, Hadj was down in the lighthouse right now with Jessie and his Dad, working on a new project, and wasn't available for a rematch. Nothing new there, Jonny thought bitterly. And Race was downstairs going over some of the security programs. He'd made a point to tell Jonny that. Like it really mattered, now.  
  
He channel surfed some more. God, he was bored. Nothing was on TV, or the radio. And he hated being in this house. The only good thing was that Bandit was still here, and had taken to him, just like he used to. Jonny idly gave the dog a pat, as he changed the channel yet again.  
  
Finally, his thoughts were broken by a tap on the door, and Mrs. Evans looked in, with a smile. "Mail just came, Honey. And there is something for you." She came in with a huge box, and set it on his bed, dislodging a disgruntled Bandit, as Jonny straightened up and looked curiously at the writing. He grinned as soon as he recognized the handwriting and the address, and began to tear it open. Bandit grumbled again, and moved to the end of the bed, out of the chaos.  
  
Mrs. Evans watched silently in startled amazement, at the transformation on the boy's face when he saw the address, then edged herself out of the room. It was nice to see a smile on his face. It was the first one she'd seen all week. Jonny without that big smile, or the constant chatter, was just not right. Hopefully, this meant that things were looking up.  
  
* * *  
  
When Benton looked in later, to check on his son, he fully expected to see him idly channel surfing, or sleeping, or just staring out the window, as he had been doing most of the week. But instead, he found Jonny fully engrossed in a book, and chaos all around him. Benton was more than surprised. This was the way Jonny's room had always looked, before . . . But now, well, Jonny just never touched anything. As far as Benton could tell, the computer, magazines, comics, pictures, cds, everything that had been Jonny's life 18 months ago hadn't been disturbed. But now, magazines were spread all over the bed, as well as about several books. Also included seemed to be a pile of what was apparently horseshow ribbons, and about a dozen video tapes - some commercial, some obviously not.  
  
And the bulletin board over his desk had changed. Benton had known everything in this room. He'd spent so much time here when after he thought Jonny had died. The original pictures that had been up there, those of Jonny, his friends and family, and the magazine covers of People, Newsweek and Time, that they had been featured in; the pictures that Benton couldn't bear to change just because Jonny had put them there, anymore that he had been able to change anything in this room after he thought Jonny to be dead; were now overlaid with more of the award ribbons, several new magazine covers, and more pictures. These seemed to be mostly of jumping horses. He'd look later. But it was good to see that Jonny had been up and around a little bit. Granted, he was supposed to stay in bed and stay quiet, but Benton just couldn't get used to Jonny 'obeying' orders, rather than thwarting them.  
  
Putting a smile on his face, he walked into the room, saying cheerfully, "What have you got there, son?"  
  
Benton saw Jonny look up at him, startled, as he moved across the room to sit on the bed next to his son. Benton realized that Jonny hadn't even known he was there. My god, how he wished his son would greet him with a smile, just once. Something besides this blank, unfathomable expression. Jonny just shrugged; the typical teenage euphuism for 'nothing'.  
  
Benton looked at the magazines, and saw countless copies of 'The Chronicle of the Horse', 'Show Circuit', and 'Practical Horseman'. The books seemed to be more of the same. Practical Horseman's Book of Horsekeeping' and 'Practical Horseman's Book of Riding, Training and Showing Hunters and Jumpers'. Anna Jane White Muellen's 'Judging Hunters and Hunter Seat Equitation'. Randy Roy's 'The Judge is Back'. George Morris's 'American Jumping Style.' And many more.  
  
Benton looked at the book that Jonny had been so completely engrossed in. It was George Morris' 'Hunter Seat Equitation'. Mentally he shook his head. He had no idea of what any of this stuff was, except that it was about horses. Spying a letter lying among the chaos, he asked, "May I?"  
  
Jonny shrugged again, turning back to his book, immediately becoming engrossed again. Benton took that as permission, and looked at the card.  
  
The stock was pale green, heavyweight cardstock. Good, expensive paper, by the feel of it. And on the front, was a small, simple pen and ink sketch of a horse and rider clearing what was apparently a fence in a hunting field. Below, in a simple, elegant font, was etched, 'Campbell-Martin Sporthorses'. Benton sighed to himself. He was so torn about these people. In many ways, they had taken excellent care of his son, but in others . . . Well, Benton just couldn't get the picture out of his mind of Jonny tangled up in that huge jump with that big, dark horse.  
  
With that thought, he opened the card to read the short note inside.  
  
'Jordan,  
  
Well, honestly, I shouldn't really be calling you that now, should I? But, I just wanted to let you know that Mark and I are thinking of you, and we both thought you might need some cheering up. So here are some things that ought to keep you entertained for awhile. Let me know when you need more. Also wanted to let you know that Percy is doing fine. Like you, he was incredibly lucky. Aside from probably being just about as stiff and sore as you are, he strained a ligament in his right foreleg. He'll have a couple of months off, then be good as new. You both could have had a vacation the easy way, you know. You really didn't have to do it in such a spectacular fashion. But both he and Tara are missing you. Tara will get a couple of months off, too. She'll probably blow up as fat as a balloon.  
  
I've enclosed the pictures of you from the Indoor Shows you did ride in, as well as the programs from those you didn't manage to make! Your friends have included some as well. Also, I've enclosed the ribbons you won. We all did pretty well, don't you think? We'll be heading for home soon, now that we're pretty much done here in the East. You know our e-mail address. Just make sure you keep in touch. I miss you lots, and Wilson and Marie are devastated that you aren't coming home. Mark sends his love. I'll be waiting to find a message from you when we get home. And I'll pass your e- mail address along to your friends. They've been asking if I knew what it was. I'll let you know how the horses traveled. We were both so sorry we weren't able to say goodbye, but you didn't really need to hear us tell you how much we cared about you, did you? Didn't think so. You'd figured it out long ago.  
  
Love to you always, Abigail  
  
Benton closed the card quietly, as he silently wrestled with himself, about being grateful to Mark and Abigail, and at the same time hating them that they were clearly closer to his son than he was. He resolutely put those thoughts aside, as he turned to his son. "Are you going to e-mail her?"  
  
Jonny looked at him questioningly, having been engrossed in the book again. Benton was surprised all over again. He'd never seen Jonny so taken with a 'book'! He repeated his question, and Jonny nodded immediately. "Shall I set up your computer next to your bed?" Jonny just shrugged and tuned out his father in favor of the book.  
  
Benton took that as an affirmative, and headed for the desk. Only then, as he was moving the laptop computer over to a rolling table that would allow Jonny easy access, did he realize that among the pictures now on the bulletin board, carelessly pinned with no thought of those underneath - now full of holes from the new items - were mostly pictures and several magazine covers of Jonny. Jonny with either the gray horse, or the dark horse, or both. There was an especially nice one, clearly torn from the inside of a magazine, of a smiling Jonny sitting on a paddock fence, holding the reins of both of the horses. Benton made a mental note to come back and look later. He got the computer set up, then dropped a quick pat on his son's shoulder, and told him he'd be back in a little bit to check on him. Jonny ignored him and kept reading.  
  
* * *  
  
Benton sat in his study in the dark, fighting a monster headache, and thinking hard. It was late. Very late as a matter of fact. Everybody else was sound asleep, and now he could give into his thoughts. He leaned forward with his elbows on the desk, and his head propped in his hands, having no idea how reminiscent this pose was of Jonny. And as they had been all week, Benton's thoughts were full of his son.  
  
He'd received numerous phone calls from colleagues and friends such as Alena Staysnea and Marie Meteya, after the news story broke, telling him how happy they were that Jonny was home, and wondering when Benton's travels would be taking his household their respective directions, so they would be able to welcome Jonny back in-person.  
  
Then Benton would have to tell them about Jonny's accident, and that health reasons wouldn't permit it right now. He also went on to explain that they just needed to have some time at home. And amongst the sympathy, it would bring back all the painful memories home to roost once again. Memories of the huge fights that he and Jonny had had during the roughly six months prior to the kidnapping.  
  
Jonny had been twelve, and seemed to be entering the terrible teens early, at least to Benton's mind. It had started so quietly. First the small squabbles about wanting to stay home once in awhile, instead of traveling, so he could participate in a school sport where attendance was an issue, and that the coach wouldn't make an exception. Then the slipping grades, again. Then Jonny began to be AWOL when all the kids were supposed to be working on a project on the computer in the lighthouse. And just the general defiance that grew and escalated over that time, until the house itself was a war zone, and words were missiles, filling the air.  
  
Race had tactfully suggested professional help, but Benton had snorted at the idea. Jonny was just hitting puberty. These problems had been happening from time immemorial. Although Hadji really hadn't been much of an issue, he too definitely was having his moments. And Benton had pointed out that it hadn't exactly been a party with Jessie this last year, and she had managed to make it through her 13th birthday without anybody in the household murdering her, and was apparently going to reach her 14th unscathed, as well. Race muttered, 'barely,' and did remind him that it had been close more than once.  
  
Benton had just waved him off, smiling, and telling him that they'd get through it, just like families had for generations. Race had snorted at that, and reminded him that 'since when did this family do anything the 'easy' or 'normal' way'. Benton had had to laugh about that, but gently reminded Race that in addition to everything else, he did have a degree in Psychology, which had come in handy a time or two, and had gone on doing what he was doing. Giving Jonny as much leeway and respect as he had earned.  
  
But the constant wars had taken their toll on everyone, and Benton had finally decided to leave Jonny home during that fateful Spring, 18 months earlier. Unfortunately, this happened to be the one trip in the last several months that Jonny did want to go on, but Benton was tired. He felt they both needed a break, as did the rest of the household. Jonny's constant challenges were wearing everyone down, and tempers were fraying.  
  
That particular battle had probably been the worst, in a series of progressively bitter confrontations, and Jonny's defiance was getting out of hand.  
  
"But Dad, it's the Kimberly Diamond Mines. I've always wanted to go there. You know that."  
  
The annoying whine in Jonny's voice had been like fingernails on a chalkboard to Benton, and he could feel his fuse getting shorter exponentially. Better to get this over quickly. "Jonny, this is a working trip. It's not fun and games. There wouldn't be much time for sightseeing."  
  
"There never is," came the grumbled reply.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Benton asked, the warning tone in his voice clear.  
  
Jonny, as usual, barged straight ahead, not heeding any of the warnings. "I said 'it never is'," he enunciated distinctly.  
  
"And what exactly do you mean by that?" The warning tone was even clearer.  
  
Once again, Jonny ignored all danger signs. "I mean that we never get to do anything. We're always working on your stuff. It's always about you. I never get to do anything I want to. I don't ever get anything."  
  
Benton drew in a deep breath and counted to ten. He'd survive this. Without murdering his son. He hoped. Parents had managed to not kill their offspring for centuries. "Young man, look around you. You have more advantages than most other children in the world. And right now, you're acting like a spoiled little boy. And to be blunt, you haven't earned much respect in the last few months. So, while your home, I suggest you think about that. Mrs. Evans will be here will you. And you'll be grounded. No friends, no leaving the house, no TV. And I expect your grades to be back up to par when I get back. Oh, and no computer, except for schoolwork, either. Understood?"  
  
Jonny had shrugged, and muttered, "whatever."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Jonny looked sullenly at his father, and answered a flat, "Yes Sir."  
  
"Good. I'll see you when we get back."  
  
And those were the last words that Benton had ever spoken with his son.  
  
* * *  
  
Unbeknownst to Benton, Race, too was up at the very late hour. He'd heard a noise and had stealthy gone to see who the intruder was. Through the crack in the door, he'd seen Benton at his desk, outlined by moonlight, elbows on the huge mahogany slab of a desk, face resting in his hands. Race had backed out silently, and let him be. He knew the man was going through hell right now.  
  
Running his hands through his short cropped hair, Race went up to check on the kids. He was awake now anyway, and he'd feel better for it. Peeking in at his daughter, he smiled as he saw her sleeping peacefully in a tangle of red hair. She'd been spending a lot of time with him since Jonny had come home, trying desperately to decipher her jumbled emotions. She was so confused, and upset. She had told him that she felt like a stranger had come home. He didn't seem to like any of the things he'd used to, and that she felt she didn't know him anymore. She sobbed out the hurt that he didn't seem to want anything to do with her. Her best friend didn't like her anymore. She'd finally taken to avoiding him. Race had just held her, and told her to be patient, that things would work out, all the while praying that it would be true. All he could say, was that through this, he was becoming even closer than ever to his daughter, and although he loved it, it seemed so unfair, because Benton was so apart from his youngest son.  
  
He checked on Hadji next. Hadji slept the sleep of the just. As always, Hadji the peacemaker was well in evidence right now. He was a Godsend - literally. He seemed to be the only person that Jonny would tolerate right now.  
  
And lastly, Race looked in on Jonny. He knew that with the medications, Jonny was still sleeping very heavily, so he wasn't worried that he would wake him. Race walked over and sat down on the side of his bed, and laid his hand on his forehead, checking for fever, out of habit more than anything else. Nothing. His recovery was going very well.  
  
Race glanced around the room and noted the same thing that Benton had. Nothing from Jonny's old life had been touched. Absolutely nothing. But the items from the box Jonny had received that afternoon seemed to overlay the room like a shell. It was as if Jonny was papering over his old life, with his new. And most of it seemed to horse related. Race just didn't get it. He did note that the computer was next to Jonny's bed, for the first time. Making a mental note to tell his daughter, and feeling as though he was prying, Race touched the computer, watching as it came silently to life. Then, feeling like a heel, he checked the history on the system, and found that the only thing Jonny had been accessing was e-mail. Nothing else. No games, no anything. Just e-mail. He found it odd, just like his daughter did, that Jonny was spurning the cutting edge technology that he'd always so excelled in. But then again, who would have thought that they would have found him winning at one of the largest and most prestigious horse shows in the country.  
  
"I just don't know you anymore, kiddo," Race whispered softly, stroking Jonny's forehead lightly. "Not at all." Jonny slept through it all.  
  
With a soft sigh, Race got up, bent to give Bandit a quick pat, and exited the room. That was one of the more amusing things about all this. Bandit, after Jonny's disappearance, had split his nights pretty evenly between Jessie and Hadji. As soon as Jonny was back; this new, different, silent, Jonny, Bandit was right back at his side. Race thought about that, and then the horses, and Jonny's attachment to them, and wondered. Who would have thought that Jonny would have such an affinity with animals.  
  
Race wandered back downstairs, and peeked in the slightly opened door of Benton's study. Benton's posture hadn't changed. It was obviously going to be a long night of soul searching. For Race as well. He blamed himself for Jonny's disappearance, even though Benton had insisted later on, once the storm was past, that it wasn't his fault. That there wasn't anything anybody could have done, short of having been there. And that it had been his, Benton's, decision to leave Jonny home.  
  
But in the first hours following Jonny's confirmed death, Race had resigned immediately from his position as Director of Security with Quest Enterprises, as Benton, in his anger, and desperate sense of loss, had turned on him. But Phil Corvin, even though Race was no longer affiliated with I-1 anymore, in one of his more brilliant moments, had acted as mediator, knowing full well, that Race must remain in the Quest household. Especially now. He was probably the one person who could keep Benton stable, having done it before, after Rachel's death. And eventually Benton had calmed, with the help and wisdom of his adopted son, Hadji, and had agreed. But it had been a rocky period.  
  
But Race still, silently, to this day, blamed himself, although he knew truly that Benton didn't. They'd talked about it many times at length. But the fact remained that the security systems had been compromised one evening while Mrs. Evans was out and Jonny was home alone, and that Jonny had been taken by force from the one place that they had all considered safe. Race would never, ever, forgive himself for that breach.  
  
Those days were best not revisited. It had taken at least 24 hours for the news from Mrs. Evans that Jonny was missing to reach them. Benton, in an odd twist of fate, had recalled Jonny's words and had taken some time off for some sightseeing. They were far from any communications. In another strange twist, the kidnappers had somehow gotten Benton's private land line at the compound, and were using that to leave their messages. Nobody, but nobody ever picked up those messages except Benton. And needless to say, being out of communication range, he hadn't. Given Jonny's recent behavior, all of them had assumed Jonny had taken off for awhile, and was hiding somewhere, pouting. It certainly seemed to fit. He'd been refusing to talk to his father during the times Benton had called the house to check on him while they'd been gone. Mrs. Evans had just been assuring Benton that everything was fine, and that Jonny was just being sullen. Benton had spent the entire trip thus far simmering in anger. So honestly, the assumptions were valid, and nobody could guess the real truth. So only the local authorities had been notified.  
  
So from a combination of unusual circumstances, bad assumptions, and just plain rotten luck, the fact that Jonny was kidnapped and held for ransom, wasn't discovered until they were on the plane, heading home. Benton was threatening his son with bodily harm, and the kids were resentful at the trip being cut short.  
  
Then, finally, on the flight home, at about 36 hours into the whole mess, Benton had finally had a chance to check his personal phone line, and all hell had broken loose. The last of the messages the kidnappers had left was a final, angry, terse communication, that obviously what Jonny had told them- that nobody cared enough about him to pay a ransom - was true, and therefore, they'd take him off Dr. Quest's hands. The fury behind the words was terrifying, and didn't bode well for Jonny. And the words themselves had cut like a knife.  
  
By 36 and a half hours, everything the FBI had had been mobilized. And as quickly as that, it was over. The kidnappers had been caught, and had confessed to the murder of Jonathon Benton Quest, and had directed them to where they had dumped his body. And at 48 hours, they were standing on a bluff high over the Pacific Ocean in a desolate section of the rocky Oregon Coast, knowing their chances of finding Jonny's body out in that vast stretch of frigid water were probably none. And with that, their lives had all changed for good.  
  
* * *  
  
Jonny shifted uncomfortably on the couch in the family room. He was bruised, battered, and sore beyond belief. But aside from more pain killers, there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it, so he was pretty philosophical about it. He'd had enough falls from enough horses to know that by now. His father had praised him on how patient he was being. Jonny just snorted to himself. He'd learned the hard way, and it had nothing to do with patience, but had everything to do with survival. He'd had to choose, once, between oblivion and survival. He still wasn't all that sure he'd made the right choice.  
  
Pondering that choice once again, Jonny shifted slightly to pop a tape into the VCR. When his father had helped him downstairs, figuring he needed a change of scenery, he'd moved the VCR closer to the coffee table, within reach. He'd also dug out the remotes that nobody ever used, now needed for Jonny, since it pretty hard to access the voice activated system connected to IRIS if you didn't speak.  
  
The first night Jonny had arrived home, and as it was apparent he wasn't going to, or wasn't able to speak, Benton had also solved the problem of Jonny not being able to call for help. He'd designed a portable touch pad, programmed into IRIS. All he had to do was touch the key designated for whoever he wanted, and IRIS would alert them. Jonny supposed it worked okay. He hadn't ever used it. But it sat next to the VCR as well. His father had obviously brought it downstairs with the videos he'd wanted. The only good thing about it, Jonny supposed, was that it insured he wouldn't have somebody in with him all the time. That would make him absolutely insane.  
  
Jonny was glad to have the time right now to review the tapes. They were definitely better on the big screen TV, so he wasted no time with firing them up. Abby had sent several commercial tapes - show jumping from the Olympic Games, and the World Equestrian Games, among others, and several Gran Prix classes that she had taped off the TV. But the ones Jonny wanted to watch right now were the tapes of his own rounds. They usually ordered them from each show as a teaching tool. Grabbing the legal pad and pencil next to him, he set out to watch, and take notes.  
  
The first round up was a hunter round he had ridden on Tara at one of the late summer shows. The tape quality was good, and the big screen could really show up the finer points. He liked the first few fences, then frowned as he noticed her shoulder drop through the a big sweeping turn. Hum, he'd never seen that before. Watching carefully, over several different rounds, he noticed it happened again and again, mostly when they were traveling left, usually to a big fence off of a long gallop. Geez, no wonder it was so hard to make her use herself well in that situation. Well, that could be fixed pretty simply. He quickly jotted down 'drops shoulder - long gallops off left', and watched some more. By the time he was up to the tape of the Penn National show, he had a page full of notes of things he wanted to work on when he could ride again.  
  
That was when it really hit him. The chances of him getting to ride again were pretty slim. He was back in his father's house. What he wanted usually wasn't an option unless it had to do with computers or science. There just wasn't much else available. In despair he shut down the tape in the middle of a Junior Hunter round, and lay back on the couch. He was tired, discouraged, and his leg was hurting. It was in a cast from thigh to foot. The lack mobility was driving him crazy, and so was the lack of riding.  
  
He reflected on his father. Something he still couldn't do without anger. When he'd last been here (he still couldn't bring himself to think of it as home), he had been so tired of living in his Dad's shadow, and Jonny had begun to find life stifling. All the trips they had taken, all the projects, everything was an extension of his father. And it was all science and computers. Computers and science. He never cared if he saw another computer again.  
  
Jonny remember clearly asking if they, or at least he, could stay home for two months straight so he could run on the school track team. It had meant a lot to him. The coach had told him he could - but only if he could guarantee his attendance. He couldn't. There hadn't been any discussion. His Dad had told him they had trips scheduled, and had shut out anything else Jonny had to say about it. Jonny hated the sympathetic look in the coach's eyes when he had had to tell him. The coach had told Jonny that he was very good at this, and he would love to have him on the team and he would have been a valuable addition, but he simply couldn't make exceptions. Jonny hadn't been happy about it, but he did understand. And frankly, he was tired of being an exception to all the rules. It would be nice to just follow them once in awhile.  
  
Jonny folded his arms on his chest and stared at the ceiling. Maybe that was why riding was so much fun for him. He liked everything about the sport, the interaction with another live being, the camaraderie with the other kids, the demanding physical and mental skills. But most of all, he had done it on his own. Playing by the rules, and working his way up from the bottom, like everyone else. He hadn't been handed the best horses; instead, he'd earned the right to ride horses with potential, and had helped to make them into the best horses.  
  
And now, in despair, he was realizing that he'd probably never get to see them again. It was just like the track team, all over again. He'd overheard his Dad beginning to schedule trips again, meaning that he'd get drug along too. And without being able to ride regularly, there wasn't much point. Besides, the chances of his Dad even letting him HAVE a horse were pretty nil. Race had had to lobby pretty hard for Bandit at the time. The decision to choose survival over oblivion was beginning to look more and more like the wrong one.  
  
Jonny turned to study the portrait of his mother, set over the mantel of the fireplace. 'Why did you have to die?' he thought angrily. Life would have been so much better if you had lived.  
  
Benton chose that moment to walk into the room again. He had a cheerful greeting for his son, and commented in concern that Jonny looked tired. Did he want to go back up to his room?  
  
Jonny wanted nothing more than to leave the room and escape his father's presence, but with his injuries, he had to settle for bottling everything up inside, and pasting as blank a look as possible on his face to hide the churning hate he was feeling. And he had little choice but to allow the one person who had taken away everything he'd worked for, help him back up to his room.  
  
* * *  
  
After dinner, later that same evening, Benton was sitting on the couch where Jonny had been, pensively watching one of Jonny's videos. Race walked in, and saw the expression on the scientist's face, asked what was up.  
  
"This!" Benton said explosively and waved his hand toward to the TV. Then, he looked quickly around.  
  
"Relax, it's just us," Race laughed. "Jessie's upstairs doing homework, and Hadji and Jonny are playing chess." He looked at the video Benton was watching. It showed the big dark horse, and what Race assumed to be Jonny - it was hard to tell, under that helmet - jumping some really big jumps. "So?"  
  
"So? Keep watching." Benton snapped.  
  
As the round continued, Race suddenly realized that this was the round he had seen Jonny riding. Which also meant . . . "Turn it off," he said quickly.  
  
Benton just shook his head, watching for what was next. He knew it pretty well. He'd watched the tape half a dozen times by now since he'd found it this evening.  
  
Race winced as he saw the horse miss his step, then swim into the jump. The fall actually went pretty quickly, and the photographer had shut the video off as the horse was trying to kick his way clear - Jonny unseen underneath.  
  
"I don't know if it's such a good idea to be watching that," Race observed, as Benton leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, put his hands over his face. "Turn the TV off IRIS." And complying, the screen went dead. "Benton, you really don't want to keep watching that over and over."  
  
"I know," he answered tiredly. "I just can't imagine those people in California were thinking, letting Jonny do this. It looks unbelievably dangerous. Much less sending him this tape!"  
  
"I can't imagine anybody 'letting' Jonny do anything he didn't want too," Race observed with a laugh, after dropping into a chair next to his friend. "And like we haven't drug Jonny into enough dangerous situations?"  
  
Benton snorted. "Good point. But those were different."  
  
"How?" Race asked, logically.  
  
Benton just shook his head, dismissing the thought, and coming back to the subject uppermost in his mind. "Why would Jonny want to watch these tapes over and over?"  
  
Race looked at the legal pad on the table, with all of the notes jotted on it. "Studying, from the looks of it."  
  
"Studying? MY son? Come on, Race. Be realistic," Benton commented as he rubbed his temples, then leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest, thinking about all the wars over grades in the past years.  
  
"I am serious. Look at this," and he handed the notepad to Benton.  
  
Benton's eyes widened as he looked at it. "I don't understand a word of it," he stated, looking up at Race.  
  
Race shrugged. "Me either, but obviously Jonny does."  
  
Benton was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "I wish I understood what was going on in his head. I've explained about the ransom, and not getting the messages, and how sorry I am, how much I love him and how grateful I am to have him back, but it just goes past him. I just don't know what to do anymore."  
  
The quiet agony in Benton's voice made Race wince. But he understood exactly what the man was saying. He didn't understand it anymore that Benton did. But he voiced something he'd been thinking about for awhile. "Why don't you go to California and meet with the people at Campbell-Martin Sport horses, and try to get a sense of his life there? You've said you needed to get his medical records anyway, and look into his inability to speak. You may as well make a trip of it. Talk to his social worker. You know, the whole nine yards."  
  
Benton looked over at him quizzically. "I can't leave Jonny right now. You know that, Race."  
  
Race shrugged. "He'll be safe here. I'll be here. Trust me Benton, I'll make sure that nothing happens. You do trust me with him, don't you?"  
  
Benton smiled at his old friend. "Yes Race, I do trust you with him. But I'm still not sure I should go. What if Jonny needs me?"  
  
Right now the kid doesn't want to see any of us any more than he has to, Race thought to himself. Except maybe Hadji, he amended silently. But he didn't voice that to Benton. He didn't have too. Benton knew it just as well as Race did. He didn't need to have his face rubbed into it. He just reiterated, 'We'll be fine. Go."  
  
Benton nodded slowly, then got up to go make the arrangements.  
  
* * *  
  
"He's coming here," Mark Campbell said unceremoniously, tossing the notes he'd made from his phone conversation down onto the tack room table.  
  
"Who?" Abby asked as she looked up from the training schedule she was writing.  
  
"Benton Quest. He wants to pick up Jordan's medical records, and come talk to us."  
  
"Jonny," Abigail corrected.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Jonny. You said Jordan. He's Jonny."  
  
Mark shook his head. "I know. I think I'll probably just always think of him as Jordan."  
  
Abigail looked up with a smile. "Me too. How did he sound?"  
  
"Who? Dr. Quest?"  
  
"No, Jonny," Abigail said rhetorically in exasperation. "Of course, Dr. Quest."  
  
"Like I expected him to. An arrogant SOB."  
  
Abby laughed at the usually soft-spoken man's comments.  
  
Mark Campbell defended himself. "He did. And that stunt of pulling Jor . . . Jonny out of the hospital in the middle of this night, without giving us time to say goodbye to him, isn't something I'll forgive soon."  
  
"I know," Abby signed. "It was pretty high handed. Poor Jordan."  
  
"Jonny."  
  
"Oh, right. Jonny."  
  
* * *  
  
Benton Quest knew for certain that he wasn't in Kansas anymore. If fact, he felt like he was on a completely different planet. Campbell-Martin Sporthorses was an unfamiliar world to him. In addition, if he hadn't been convinced that Jordan Adams was Jonny Quest, he would have doubted that the child who had lived here could have been his son. The two seemed to be polar opposites.  
  
He'd had a chance to talk to Wilson and Marie Morris, Jonny's foster parents. Their glowing description of the boy who had lived with them, sounded like somebody else's child. He did his homework, did what he was told without a fuss, and generally was not a problem in any way. Benton had been completely bemused. If fact, several times, he'd almost asked if they were talking about the same boy. The only thing that even sounded like his son, was the description of how he kept his room - messy and chaotic.  
  
This particular afternoon, he wandered out to the outdoor arena, and watched Mark Campbell giving a lesson to a student. In spite of all of the demanding jumps set up in the ring, instead the rider was going through a series of exercises which seemed to involve moving forward and sideways at the same time and involved no jumps.  
  
"Different than you expected?" A soft voice broke into his reverie. He looked over to find Abigail at his side, also leaning on the fence.  
  
"Very," Benton answered honestly. "Why aren't they jumping?" he asked, nodding towards the horse and rider schooling in the ring.  
  
Abigail laughed. "You don't know much about this sport, do you," she commented.  
  
"No, I don't," Benton admitted. "Oh, I've ridden horses. And I had made sure that Jonny and Hadji had both had basic riding lessons. We go too many places were the only transportation is equine. And we've all done some riding out at my late wife's parent's ranch. But NOTHING like this. Nothing at all. So, please, enlighten me." he responded.  
  
Abby laughed, and began. "Frankly, we don't jump much at home. We save that for the shows. There is an old adage that a horse has only so many jumps in him over his lifetime. And you should use them judiciously - not jumping lots of extra fences when you don't need to. And these horses are athletes. We don't want to use up their best performances. So, when we're at home, we generally school on the flat, meaning we ride at the walk, trot, and canter, and over cavelettis and small jumps. Then just before we go on the road, we'll school over a couple of courses with the jumps set at the heights we'll show over to remind them of their job. But generally, we maintain fitness, and try to get the horse more 'broke' while we're at home. That's what they're doing right now," she finished as she nodded to the horse and rider working down the ring.  
  
"What are they doing now? That sideways thing," Benton asked. It went against the scientist in him to not know the technical terms.  
  
Abby smiled again, and proceeded to educate him. "That's called a leg yielding. It means that your horse moves forward and sideways at the same time, while still maintain the strong impulsion from the horse's hind legs. The horses body should be bent around the rider's leg. So if you want the horse to leg yield to the right, you push the horse off your left leg, and bend his body around the left leg. It's called a half pass when the horse is bent around your right leg, but you are moving right. That is a very difficult movement to do."  
  
"Movement?" Benton asked.  
  
"Dressage movement. Are you familiar with the Lipizzan Stallions?"  
  
Benton nodded. Everybody had heard of them.  
  
"They practice what is called Dressage. Like Show Jumping, it's an international sport, and the term 'dressage' basically means 'training'. When horses show in Dressage, they begin at Training Level, then move up to First Level, then Second, and so on. Each level contains a set riding test which adds a specific additional movement or exercise. Most horses will work at approximately one level a year. After the numbered levels are completed, horses will move into the FEI, or international competition levels, such as the Prix St. Georges, Intermediare tests, and finally, Gran Prix."  
  
When Benton nodded his understanding, Abby continued. "We in the Hunter/Jumper world use the principles of Dressage to train our horses. Most of our horses can easily perform a First or a Second level dressage test. After that, the muscling and conditioning needed for showing to the different disciplines differs greatly. But a good hunter or jumper often can perform the various movements from most of the numbered level tests. It's a good system, but like anything else worth doing, it takes times. And that's the kind of work we do at home."  
  
Benton shook his head in amazement. "And Jonny did this?"  
  
Abigail gave him a huge grin. "Yes, Jonny did this. And not only did it, but did it well.  
  
Benton shook his head again. Jordan from Campbell-Martin Sporthorses sounded nothing like the Jonny he had at home right now.  
  
"And his grades then, they must have just been abysmal," Benton commented absently, knowing his son's one track mind, and the battles they'd had over school work. If he was this into something, everything else suffered.  
  
"No," Abby commented in surprise. "They were wonderful."  
  
At Benton's doubtful look, she continued. "Once he started to ride, Mark explained to him that riding was a privilege, not a right, and if he wanted to ride, it came after everything else he had to do was completed. No homework, no chores, no riding. We never had a problem. He was in the top 5 percent of his honors class, and in a grade above where he should have been given his age, and never seemed to have a problem keeping up." She shrugged. "Granted, knowing now what we do about his parents, it's not so surprising as it was at the time. I understand that Dr. Rachel Quest had a significantly high IQ as well?"  
  
Benton nodded. At his affirmation, Abby just shrugged again. "Like I said, we never had a problem. Even with as much time as he missed while showing. It just wasn't an issue. He was always caught up prior to going, or immediately upon arriving home. Marie said he has been the easiest foster child they've ever had. They miss him a lot."  
  
After a long pause, while still looking studiously away towards the schooling horse, Abigail said flatly, "That was a really awful, selfish thing you did to us; taking Jor . . . Jonny away without giving us a chance to talk to him. Not even to say goodbye! He hadn't even woken up yet from that fall. I know he's your son, but he's like family to us as well, and you had no right." The final words were said with quite a bite behind them.  
  
Benton looked at her in surprise. "I'm sorry," he stated after a long pause. "I didn't even think that you'd care so much," he began.  
  
"NOT CARE!" Abby began hotly.  
  
Benton held up a hand. "Please, let me finish," he commented as Abby subsided. "And frankly, I blamed you for putting him in that position. You have no idea how bad it was to watch."  
  
Abigail calmed down somewhat, but was still seething. "Oh Please! Of course I know how bad it was to watch. It was a horrendous fall. I hate seeing something like that happen to anybody, but it's ten times worse when it's somebody I'm close to." She gave an involuntary shudder.  
  
Benton was startled at her vehemence, as she turned to look at him, and continued. "And as for putting Jonny into that position, do you really think we would EVER make anybody ride over fences if they didn't truly want to do it? Yes, it is a dangerous sport. But then again, so is life. Jonny never had to do it. We give all of the foster kids some basic riding lessons, and most of them quit after a couple of weeks, and go back to just feeding, grooming and doing turnouts. And that's fine. But Jonny was different." Abby shook her head in amazement at the memory.  
  
"He loved it. We generally had to get him to back off, if anything. He wanted to be riding in the Open Jumpers at the end of this year, and doing some of the Mini Prix. We had to hold him back to the Junior divisions. He would get so frustrated at us, holding him back. And when he wasn't riding, he was with the horses in one way or another. Grooming, mucking stalls, helping do the ground schooling, you name it. Sometime just leaning over their stall doors or paddock fences and doing nothing but watching them."  
  
Abby looked seriously at him for a moment. "You need to get out of your Ivory Tower, Dr. Quest. It's a great, big, world out there. Your son loves the sport he's discovered. Let him make his own decisions for a change." And with that, she walked off leaving Benton with a wealth of information to digest.  
  
* * *  
  
Benton's mind was still churning from his visit to California as he sat in his office back in Maine. He gotten home a few hours ago, and he didn't think his mind had shut down since the 'ivory tower' conversation with Abigail, as he tended to think of it. He was finally getting a chance to look over Jonny's medical records. The records from the first hospital stay in California were appearing to be horrific.  
  
Race walked in. "All the kids are asleep," he announced. "And they're glad to have you back."  
  
Benton snorted at that. "Except Jonny."  
  
"Well, who can tell with him right now," Race said diplomatically, grabbing a chair and turning it around so he could straddle it backwards. This was the first time he'd had a chance to talk to Benton privately since his return home. He looked at the papers on the desk. Nodding to them, he commented, "Medical Records?"  
  
"Yes, and from the looks of them, Jonny spent a long time in the hospital immediately following the kidnapping dates."  
  
"Oh, God. But not surprising, I guess. Well, lets hear it. We'd better start somewhere trying to decipher this whole mess."  
  
Benton smiled at the man in front of him, grateful for his support. During his time in California, Benton had found that instead of delving into Jonny's life over the last 18 months, it seemed to spur him to delve into his own, back over several years. Everything that had happened during that visit was beginning to topple his sense of self, and he wasn't liking much what he had been discovering. But, like any good scientist, he'd take what the evidence showed.  
  
"Well, to begin with, I spoke to the California State social worker, and the timeline appears that Jonny was found on the street by a policeman, at what seems to be the approximate time we were out in the waters off Oregon, looking for his body."  
  
Race raised his eyebrows at that.  
  
Benton continued. "He was in shock, and covered with blood, and appeared to be seriously injured. He was transported to the hospital where, according to the records, he immediately went into surgery, then stayed for 3 days in intensive care. After that, he was transferred to the pediatric ward where he stayed for 17 more days." Benton paused as he thumbed through the records.  
  
"I still don't get why nobody put two and two together," Race commented, shaking his head in frustration. "Jonny's picture had been all over the news."  
  
"This is why," Benton sighed, and pushed a photocopy of a picture from one of the records across the table.  
  
Race looked at it in shock. "This is . . . Jonny?"  
  
Benton nodded. He knew the picture well by now. He had stared at it for a long, long time. It wasn't pretty. Jonny's face was bruised and swollen beyond recognition. He had two bad black eyes, and the remainder of his face seemed to be a massive bruise of varying shades of purple and angry red. The angry color extended clear down to what could be seen of his neck, which was encased in a cervical collar. He was on a ventilator, and had stitches covered with light bandages across his nose, left cheekbone, and near his left ear.  
  
Race was still staring at the picture as Benton continued. "He had two facial surgeries during the first two weeks to repair his broken jaw and cheekbone - the first was within an hour of his arrival. His jaw was wired shut for three months. He also had a broken right wrist, and a couple of broken ribs. In addition to that, he had one emergency abdominal surgery two days after he was admitted, for internal hemorrhaging that apparently developed after he arrived. Other than that, he was just a huge mass of bruises and contusions, all over his body. Somebody . . ." Benton broke for a moment. "Somebody had beaten him to within an inch of his life."  
  
"Somebody named Jeb Hambly. You can say it Benton. He's in prison."  
  
"Yes, for murder. Which will be dropped, I'm sure, considering Jonny's alive. I've been just waiting for a call from the Oregon attorney." The pain in Benton's voice was apparent.  
  
Race looked up and reassured Benton quickly. "He'll stay in for kidnapping - he was convicted of that as well. And the charge will be changed to attempted murder and assault. He'll be re-tried and convicted. You don't have to worry, Benton."  
  
Benton nodded, and swallowed hard. "At least we know Jeb Hambly lied about dumping Jonny's body in the Pacific Ocean."  
  
"We do?" Race was puzzled.  
  
Benton nodded. "There was no problem with his lungs. It's very clear here." Benton tapped the copies of the charts in front of him. "If he'd been in the water, he would have aspirated a lot of it, given his condition."  
  
"So why . . . ?" Race broke off, then nodded slowly. "Jeb lied because he knew we would never find Jonny's body. Convicting him of murder could be done, and was, but he wouldn't get the death penalty. And he knew that Jonny, wherever he HAD actually left him, would be in pretty bad shape."  
  
Benton finished for him. "And as badly as he'd beaten him, he should have been dead, and Jeb knew he wouldn't have stood a chance. He'd get death row. This way he had a ghost of a chance." Benton fell silent, clearly remembering the days of the unspeakable trial.  
  
"What about his inability to speak?" Race changed the subject, bringing Benton's attention back to his miraculously still living son.  
  
Benton shrugged. "According to the records, originally the staff at the hospital were not even aware that this was a problem. The swelling of his face, throat and neck required that he be on a ventilator for some time. And it wasn't until this was removed, well into his stay at the hospital, that it became apparent that Jonny couldn't, or wouldn't, speak. When it was clear there was a problem, they first had Jonny examined carefully, and they were able to rule out physical disability. The copies of the test results and cat-scans are in here, and do show that physically at least, he really is okay."  
  
Race shook his head. "Thank God for small favors. Looking at this picture, I could easily see the problem being physical."  
  
"Yes, I agree," Benton said, the wealth of relief he'd felt on originally reading the findings still clear in his voice. "Unfortunately, his social worker told me that regardless of the psychological help he's had, to her knowledge, he's never said a word. Anybody else I've talked to has confirmed that as well." Benton fell silent, as he and Race both mentally processed the facts further.  
  
"There's more, isn't there," Race stated after watching Benton for a moment. He waited while Benton obviously collected his thoughts.  
  
"I learned things about myself on this trip that . . . that I don't think I like very much."  
  
Race looked puzzled, but stayed quiet.  
  
"Both Mark Campbell and Abigail Martin separately took me to task for removing Jonny from the hospital the night of his fall, without so much of a by-your-leave for them. Both told me that they resented not having a chance to talk to him, to say goodbye. They harbored such anger towards me, I was shocked. When I tried to explain that I was upset with them, and partially blamed them for Jonny being in that position, and intimated that they took the danger aspects lightly when it came to my son, Abigail literally jumped down my throat. She looked at me like I was the lowest rung of the evolutionary ladder. She also gave me a piece of her mind about that the fact that I had no right, and no reason, to assume that they didn't care about Jonny. And that, if anything, Jonny had participated in this sport by choice, not through pressure."  
  
Race just looked on in amazement. Frankly, he was as stunned as Benton had been. He had never thought to put that kind of spin on things.  
  
"She also accused me of being stuck in an Ivory Tower, and not in touch with the real world. That hurt, Race. I've always thought of myself as part of the real world, not just of the academic, but I'm learning that that assumption is patently false." Benton got up and moved to the window, looking out on the dark Atlantic, his voice drifting back to where Race was seated.  
  
"She also told me to let my son make his own decisions about what he wanted for once, and that probably hurt more than anything." Benton bowed his head. "I also learned that Jonny was the model child while he was there. They had nothing but wonderful things to say about him. No problem with chores, or grades."  
  
Race smiled slightly, and interrupted. "Maybe, but you also have to remember that Jonny was probably pretty traumatized at that point. He'd probably be doing just about anything anybody would tell him to do right about then."  
  
Benton turned, silently appreciating Race's try at minimizing the damage he'd done, and returned to the desk as he continued. "A good assumption, and maybe partially true, but not fully. They had Jonny in the honors program - one grade above where he'd been here at home. In fact, he was scoring in the top five percentile of the gifted program. I brought the report cards and school records here to prove it."  
  
Race whistled in astonishment. "And no problems with homework?"  
  
"None." Benton sat down again and went on. "And that really showed me that I needed to rethink how I'd been acting, not how my son has been acting. My son prefers to live with strangers rather than in his own home. And I'm finding out that I'm the problem. That after all this time, I'm discovering that my son has felt inferior in his own home for quite awhile. Overshadowed. Never quite good enough. And I never understood enough to reassure him, or to help him to find what it was he wanted to do." Benton planted his elbows on the table and clasped his hands, resting his chin on them, as he gazed at Race.  
  
"When did I become that selfish, Race? When did I start believing my own press, and stop listening to my son? When did I stop noticing his insecurities? When did I start trying to make my son over into my own image?"  
  
Race just shook his head in amazement. "I . . . I don't know, Doc. I didn't think you had. This is news to me."  
  
Benton smiled sadly. "Yes, but we're the adults. The kids go where we dictate. And now, I'm wondering if the all of the blow ups before Jonny was . . . kidnapped, had more to do with that, than with hitting puberty. I thought long and hard about those conversations on the plane on the way home. And the underlying theme in every battle was Jonny wanting to branch out into something different. Something that was his. And I shut him down because it wasn't convenient for me."  
  
The Scientist continued ruefully. "I thought Jonny liked the computer work. He's so incredibly good at it. And I've pushed the academics so hard, because I feel they are important. And because he apparently felt he couldn't live up to my expectations, he pushed back, just as hard. I think he's also had a lot of pressure on him from the teachers here in the Rockport School System, that, frankly, I never even stopped to think about. Either they expected him to do more than the others because he's my son, or they were disappointed in him that he's not achieving more, also because he's my son. It's so clear, that while he was in California, he had no family pressure, competition, or expectations, to make him feel inadequate. Apparently, he just blossomed, school and all. Unconditional love. I guess mine wasn't so unconditional."  
  
Race sat in stunned silence, as he listened to Benton's low voice continuing. "Jessie and Hadji have loved the whole academic life. The computers, the research, and the science. It's been such a good fit for them. But Jonny has never seemed to feel like he was good enough. I remember when he started avoiding the lighthouse altogether, making sure he wasn't around when I had a project I wanted them to work on. I was so angry. Here I needed his help, and he would disappear at the most inopportune time. God, how dense could I be?"  
  
Race made as if to break in, but Benton shook his head and continued. "I think Jonny has wanted something of his own for some time. Something that set him apart as an individual; something that made him feel he was more than just part of the Quest team. That he could achieve something on his own, and no longer feel like he just 'wasn't quite good enough'." "Benton gave a bitter laugh. "I sure didn't help him much, did I? And now I'm having to face the fact that the problems I'm having with Jonny are much more issues of my own creation than Jonny's. Quite frankly, I'm probably the last person he wants to ever see again."  
  
Race tried to look neutral, but it was making a horrible kind of sense, he had to admit.  
  
"You don't have to be so diplomatic, Race," Benton said with a wry smile. "I've been arrogant Prima Dona, insisting on my own way. Although I hate to admit it, I think it's true."  
  
Race interjected, "Oh, I don't know that it's as bad as that."  
  
Benton smiled and shook his head, denying Race's attempt to soften the blow. "And do you know Race, I'm learning that Jonny is really good at this horse thing. Very, very good, as a matter of fact. And I'm also starting to get an idea of how much work it takes - both mentally and physically. Mark Campbell basically told me that if Jonny continued, we'd probably have an Olympic athlete on our hands. Can you imagine that, Race? A world class athlete." Benton shook his head in amazement.  
  
They both sat in silence for awhile, the Race asked, "Are you okay, Benton?"  
  
Benton smiled and answered, "Yes, I think I am. I just have a lot to think about. Why don't you go to bed."  
  
Race nodded, and left Benton to his silent, dimly lit room, filled with unanswered questions.  
  
* * *  
  
Not much to Race's surprise, Benton was still in his study when Race got up the next morning. He poked his head in, and asked if he wanted any coffee.  
  
Benton raised his cup in answer. "Already have some. I've been living on it all night."  
  
Race leaned against the door frame, not totally surprised that Benton had never gone to bed. "Any answers?"  
  
Benton nodded slowly. "Y-e-s, yes, I think so. Today . . . well today, I believe I'll call a man about a horse."  
  
* * * "You won't believe this." Mark Campbell greeted Abby as she was saddling her next ride.  
  
"What is it this time?"  
  
"Dr. Quest called."  
  
"Already? He just left. What else does he want to know now?"  
  
"He wants to talk to me about buying a horse for Jonny. Actually, about buying two. Tiara and Percy."  
  
Abby stopped what she was doing, and leaned against the leggy chestnut she was saddling. "You're joking," she commented flatly.  
  
"I'm not. He wanted to know if I thought those were the horses he should buy for his son, or if there were others I would recommend. He also came flat out and admitted he was completely ignorant on this subject and would need help in setting up what they needed at home," Mark finished, shaking his head in amazement. "He also wanted me to put together a show schedule for Jonny, and work out how often he would need too fly out to California to ride with us. But he was clear that the horses needed to live on their property in Maine."  
  
"That makes sense," Abby agreed slowly. "Jor . . .Jonny would want them near him. And doesn't Sarah Thomas train out in Maine now? If they were close enough, it might be a good match when we couldn't get out here." The wheels in Abby's head were turning now, trying to put together something that would work. "But they should probably stay here until the winter circuit . . ."  
  
"Yes, that might work," Mark laughed, "But slow down, first we have to put together the horse deal. I have a feeling that Dr. Quest doesn't have a clue what he's getting into financially with this."  
  
Abby grinned. "Oh, I agree. It will be a shock. And are you going to recommend Tara and Percy?"  
  
"I am. Jordan . . ., yeah, I know - Jonny," he corrected with a laugh before Abby could say anything, "knows them, and has been successful on them. Before we knew who he was, we'd already planned that he'd ride them again next year in the same divisions. He's just too young to move up into some of the Open classes. I mean, he turned 14 last month. If he'd been doing this since he was five, then I'd consider it, but he's only been showing one season! He needs a lot more miles before we make a switch."  
  
"I agree. Besides, it's going to take awhile to get going again from that broken leg," Abby mused. "Tara will be perfect."  
  
"My feeling exactly."  
  
Abby shook her head. "I can't believe it." She looked at Mark and confessed, "you know, I really gave it to Dr. Quest when he was here. I didn't like him much. I may just have to change my mind."  
  
Mark howled with laughter. "You too? I told him how I felt about his actions as well. Interesting. Maybe a high IQ is worth something after all."  
  
"Only if you can change," Abby commented. "Only if you can change."  
  
Mark grinned. "Well, I'll go call our newest client back, and put together a deal for the horses."  
  
* * *  
  
Benton walked up the stairs towards Jonny's room, in sticker shock. My god! Who would have thought two horses could have cost upwards of one hundred thousand dollars EACH! Benton had been breathless when he was told the figure.  
  
Mark Campbell had laughed at his reaction. "Frankly, Dr. Quest, they are two of the top Junior horses in the nation. What did you expect? And truthfully, I'd be selling them for significantly more than that to anybody else, but they're going to Jonny. I'm willing to make a concession. After all, he'd helped to make them what they are, and from what you've mentioned, he'll be showing most of the time with us, so they'll be staying in my program."  
  
Mark had recommended that he call a couple of other trainers to verify the pricing, and also for the recommendation of a good vet. He told Benton that essentially, if you were paying for a top horse, you needed to know any physical limitation or problems they might have. And although he'd had both horses in his barn for upwards of three years and had never had any issues, it would be foolhardy not to have a substantial, independent vet check done.  
  
When Benton had asked if they could just use his vet, Mark had declined. He was the seller. It was not a savvy thing to do. Benton was free to call him, of course, and get a history on both horses, but he really needed to have an independent exam done.  
  
Benton had done as he suggested, and called the mentioned trainers. He had also called a colleague, Nathan Keller, whose daughter was involved in jumping horses, got the name of her trainer, and called her as well. He got unanimous answers. He was getting a steal at the price. He also was recommended the same California vet by two of the three trainers. He called Mark back, and got the deal in the works. Mark also advised him to take out insurance on both horses. Benton had been incredulous. Insurance? On horses!?  
  
Mark commented that a show horse of this caliber was a big ticket item. They could, and should be, insured just like anything else. Things happened.  
  
Benton was just really glad that his balance sheet was very healthy, because he was getting the feeling that this was not going to be an inexpensive endeavor. Mark had told him with a laugh, that it tended not to be the purchase price that ran into money, it was more often the upkeep. Benton had just sighed. Mark had also informed him however, that both of the horses he was buying tended to pay for their own show entry fees and show expenses out of the prize money they won, but that that was highly unusual. He cautioned him not to think of these animals as investments. They were not. Horses were very, very fragile, and things could and did happen. Additionally, this was an expensive sport at any level, and at the top national level his son was riding at, often prohibitively expensive. Benton shook his head again. He could handle the expense easily enough; he just had never, ever, expected it to be this high.  
  
Mark had just laughed, told him to call if he had any questions, and got the deal in the works.  
  
Benton tapped on Jonny's door, and looked in. As usual, Jonny was reading. The TV had hardly been on since the stack of books had arrived from Mark and Abby. Benton got the usual reaction - that being nothing. He entered and sat on the bed.  
  
"Jonny?" He asked quietly. Jonny looked up reluctantly.  
  
"You know I just returned from a trip last night."  
  
Jonny waited patiently. The quicker they got this latest foray over, the better. Then he'd be left alone again.  
  
"What I didn't tell you was that I went to California, and to Campbell- Martin Sporthorses." Benton watched Jonny closely, but saw no change in his demeanor.  
  
Jonny, on the other hand, was very surprised, to say the least. He'd just gotten very good at hiding it. He decided it might be worth continuing to listen, rather than tuning his father out completely.  
  
"I learned a lot of things while I was there. Mostly about myself. Things I'm ashamed of." Benton paused, then continued. These were not easy things to admit. Especially to the person who'd been hurt most by them. "I'm not sure when I stopped listening to you, Son, or when I stopped letting you be your own person. And I'm so incredibly sorry for not making you understand how talented you are, or letting you know how proud I am of you. And always have been. But I am sorry for it."  
  
Jonny listened in astonishment. These were the last things he ever expected to hear out of his father's mouth.  
  
"I can't fix the past, other than apologize for it, but I can do something about the future." Benton hid a smile, as he realized that he had his son's undivided attention for the first time. He was just sorry that it had taken this for him to come to his senses regarding Jonny. "I've just gotten off the phone from talking to Mark Campbell. I've just purchased Tara and Percy for you."  
  
Jonny's eyes got huge, and his jaw dropped.  
  
Benton smiled at the reaction, and continued. "There are many details to be worked out yet, about building a barn, and how to work lessons and showing. But we'll work them out." Benton continued on, knowing he would never, ever, just assume anything about his son again, "That is, if this is what you want. Is it?"  
  
The response from his son was a huge beaming grin.  
  
"I take it that's a yes," Benton laughed. "Do I get a hug?"  
  
And without hesitation, Jonny threw his arms around his father's neck and hugged him for the first time since he'd been home, to Benton's absolute delight.  
  
* * *  
  
Jonny had immediately e-mailed Abby. She had confirmed what his father had told him, and also mentioned she was sending some books on barn design out to him.  
  
With that conformation, Jonny just lay back and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. He still couldn't believe it. Who would have thought that his Dad would actually catch a clue. His first reaction was complete awe. But a hint of wariness kicked in almost immediately afterward. He'd wait and see. He had the horses, but only time would tell if he was going to be allowed the dedication it took to keep riding at the top. But, for the first time, he was willing to give his father the benefit of the doubt. At least for now.  
  
* * *  
  
Four months later, Race was flying Benton and Jonny to California and the winter circuit at Indio, California. After the deal for the horses had been finalized, the decision had been made to keep them in California for the time being, and have Jonny ride locally in order to get back in shape, and meet them at Indio. A system had evolved which seemed to work very well. Race would fly Jonny to California once or twice a month, usually on a Thursday night after school, and Jonny would ride all day Friday, Saturday, and Sunday with Mark. He'd often ride up to five horses a day in addition to his own. Then they'd fly back Sunday night, with Jonny sleeping on the plane so he could be up Monday morning for school.  
  
In between times, Jonny rode with a local trainer in Maine who had been highly recommended by Mark Campbell and Abigail Martin. He rode everyday after school. In addition, a barn and indoor arena complex was under construction at the Quest Compound, where the horses would return after the show season.  
  
As soon as the system was in place, and obviously working, Jonny began to look significantly more relaxed, the tense, blank look was slowly disappearing. Race was feeling better about life in general at this point. The heightened tension that Jonny had been radiating had also dissipated several degrees, and had almost disappeared. And although still sometimes wary, he was now interacting with the members of the household pretty well. Race had to hand it to Benton, he really could eat crow with the best of them, when he had to.  
  
Another interesting by product of the whole situation was with his own daughter. When she had first been told about the impending purchase of the two horses, she had been thrilled at the prospect of having show horses on the place. Race had known she would be. In fact, the whole reason they had been at the Pennsylvania National in Harrisburg the night they'd seen Jonny was because she wanted to go. Dr. Quest had been attending a conference nearby, and Jessie had seen the show advertised in the paper. Since they'd had a spare evening, Dr. Quest had gotten a box at Jessie's request.  
  
Jessie immediately bubbled over about the fact that she'd wanted a horse since she'd been small, and began to talk about how much fun it would be to learn to jump, and when would she get to start showing.  
  
"Whoa, Jess," Race had held up a warning hand. "Who said you were going to be riding?"  
  
"Well, if Dr. Quest is buying horses, then of course Hadji and I will get to ride and show, too, right?" Then warned by the expression on his face, she questioned tentatively, "Won't we?"  
  
"No, Jessie. You won't. These are Jonny's horses. Period. Also, they are incredibly expensive show horses, and frankly, I can't afford for you to participate in a sport like this. I'm not a world renowned scientist."  
  
Jessie looked totally confused, and a trifle indignant. "But when has that ever mattered. We've always shared everything!"  
  
Race sighed. The problems with Jessie right now were DEFINITLEY puberty, not a separate problem, like Jonny's. He tried to go carefully. "And that's been part of the problem. You three have always shared everything. You certainly have it made - a life with your mother, as well as one here on an estate that includes everything we could never afford to have, were it not for Dr. Quest. You and Hadji are both so much like Dr. Quest, that he spends a great deal of time with you, and he is lavish with his praise. But by doing that, his own son has come to believe that he is a disappointment to his father, and that nothing he does is ever going to be good enough. Add to that mix that he's the youngest, and he's always behind you two on everything."  
  
Jessie listened openmouthed to this explanation, then blew up. "But that's BOGUS! Dr. Quest loves Jonny, even when he's acting like an idiot, which is most of the time. And right now, he's worse than ever! How can he even think . . ."  
  
Race broke into the tirade with a look which shut her down completely, and said sternly, "And that is exactly why. A response like that. 'Jonny is acting like an idiot'. Jonny has good reason to be acting like he is. And the more Benton and I discover, the more I understand what is happening to him. So right now, even more than ever before, Jonny needs something that is his, and his alone. Something that he doesn't have to share with his family, for a change. Something that doesn't include competing against you and Hadji, where he feels he's always last of the three."  
  
Race shook his head at her instinctive response. "I know. We know that's not true, but he's younger and his gifts are different. And lastly, he needs something that he is incredibly good at, and can shine at on his own. It's about time Jonny discovered some of the benefits from being Benton Quest's son. Some of the benefits you've enjoyed for years. Therefore, the horses are Jonny's. If you're invited by Jonny, you can ride. But not until, or even if, that happens."  
  
Race did have to hand it to his daughter. He didn't think he'd ever been as proud of her as he was at that moment, when she slowly nodded her head. She bowed her head for a moment, the long red hair coming down around her like a curtain. Then she looked up again at her father, tears glistening. "I'm so sorry. I guess I've forgotten to be grateful for how much I have."  
  
Race reached forward to give her a hug. "That's okay honey, you didn't forget for long."  
  
"Can I help Jonny in anyway?" She asked, shakily, slowly coming to terms with what she'd just heard.  
  
"Just be patient with him, Honey. Just be patient."  
  
Remembering that conversation, Race shook his head. He was amazed yet again at the dedication Jonny had shown to these horses. Although Jonny had yet to speak, things were definitely looking up. He thought that yet again on landing, as he saw Benton and Jonny walking away from the plane to the waiting car, with Benton's arm draped companionably over his son's shoulder. 'Just what the doctor ordered,' Race thought as he began to taxi away for the return trip. 'Some time for just the two of them.'  
  
* * *  
  
'Indio is amazing', Benton thought. He stood by the hunter ring, where Jonny was soon to compete, watching the organized chaos swirl around him. He'd lost count of the number of show rings, all going at once. He shook his head, astounded. And his son was perfectly at home here. Benton himself was completely at a loss.  
  
"Benton!" A familiar voice hailed him.  
  
"Nathan," he greeted his colleague in surprise. "I hardly see you out East, and I bump into you here? What are you doing here?"  
  
"Same as you, probably. Melissa's riding here. Decided to try the Indio Circuit this year, instead of Florida. I take it Jonny's riding?"  
  
Benton grimaced. "Yes. I don't think my nerves can take it, but," he hastened to add, "not because of him . . ."  
  
"But as a parent," Nathan Keller finished with a grin. "Welcome to the white knuckle club. We're all alike."  
  
Benton laughed as Nathan continued, "Come join us up in the stands. You'll be in good company."  
  
"Company?" Benton asked, as he followed Nathan toward a corner of the stands.  
  
"Junior rider parents."  
  
"Oh," Benton laughed. "More white knuckles."  
  
Benton did indeed find out that he was in good company. He discovered that the majority of them were just as nervous as he was when their children went into the ring. He also discovered that very few of them rode themselves. Most of their children had gotten into riding through friends, or other venues. Nathan helpfully identified kids and introduced parents, and generally guided Benton through the maze.  
  
When Jonny entered the ring, Benton was amazed. Gone was his teenaged son; replaced instead by a poised, confident, firmly in-control young man. He was all business - any hint of cockiness gone- as he put Tara into a canter, then smoothly moved her up to a hand gallop and approached the first jump. Just as smoothly they were over and heading through the turn. The entire round went the same way. No changes in pace, no errors; just perfectly smooth jumps. As Jonny executed a faultless transition to a lovely trot, then down to a walk, Benton let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding. Only as Jonny was leaving the ring, his reins loose, and patting his horse's stretched out neck, did Benton see him smile. The huge grin he gave Mark as he was exiting the arena erased the intimidating young man, replacing him with the young teenager Benton was so much more familiar with.  
  
As Benton struggled to put the two sides of his son together in his mind, he heard a voice moaning to him, "Can't you just stay out East next year?"  
  
Benton turned around in astonishment to the speaker, a mother of another rider in the class. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
Another father grinned and added, "I agree. Your son is going to clean up this year. Again. Stay on your own coast!"  
  
Benton realized he was being teased and laughed. "Not my call, I'm afraid. It's my son's and his trainers."  
  
"Isn't is always," another parent lamented.  
  
All in all, Benton spent a surprisingly enjoyable morning with the other parents, watching his son ride. He cheered the other parent's offspring on, and nearly burst with pride as Jonny jogged his horse in first to receive the blue ribbon. For the first time, he was only 'Jonny's father', not Dr. Benton Quest, the scientist. It was a novel experience, and one he found he liked. In fact, he liked it a great deal.  
  
* * *  
  
Late on an afternoon, into their second week at Indio, Benton stood holding the lead rope to Tara's halter, while his son put her up for the night. He watched in fascination as Jonny moved around the horse with an ease and skill that spoke of long habit and repetition. Abigail noticed Benton's puzzled expression as he watched Jonny bandage his horses legs.  
  
"Standing wraps," she commented, as she cleaned the days tack.  
  
"I beg your pardon," he said in surprise, not realizing she had seen him.  
  
Abby smiled. "Jonny is putting standing wraps on Tara. They support the horses legs after they've worked hard. We use them at shows, especially if they are going on grass where the ground can be hard, and we have to put calks in their shoes. Often we'll put liniment on their legs as well, but it's just too hot today to do that."  
  
Benton nodded, absorbing the information, as he looked down the shed row aisle. Seeing the other barns, he asked a question that had been on his mind the last several days. "Abigail, why don't other kids groom and care for their own horses the way Jonny does?" He'd wondered about this while Jonny was changing before a class, having just cleaned up his horse, tacked her up, and handed her to his father to hold. As Benton had looked around idly, he saw one teenager standing on a tack trunk, berating a groom who was leading her fully tacked up horse over to her, for being late. She stepped into the stirrup and rode off without even a 'thank you'. The groom seemed to take the treatment in stride.  
  
Abby snorted. "The show circuit is full of rich kids who never have to lift a finger, and trainers who prefer them only to show up at horse shows. These kids never have to tack up, or prepare a horse for the ring at all."  
  
Benton was surprised. He'd been at the show grounds with his son before the show even started, every morning for the last several days. Jonny would lunge Percy, and hand walk Tara, loosening them up before the show started. And Tara always seemed to need a bath. Benton was learning that gray horses were a lot of work to keep clean. And Jonny did it all. "Why don't they have to do the work?"  
  
Abby shrugged. "Who knows. But most generally don't give a rip about horses, they just ride for ribbons. They'll quit when they go to college, and probably never ride again. It's a prestige thing. And you'll note that they are primarily with the same trainers."  
  
Benton nodded thoughtfully as Jonny through a light sheet over Tara and detached her from his father and led her to her stall. He reappeared a few moments later with Percy. Abby moved to intercept Benton as he reached for the lead shank. "Here, I'll hold him. He's a little more work."  
  
Benton was just as glad to step aside, as the striking dark horse danced around Abby as Jonny brushed his gleaming coat.  
  
"Is that why in comparison, you and Mark don't have as many students? Because you make your students do the work?" Benton asked as he sat on the edge of a tack trunk, crossing his arms.  
  
"No, not necessarily. Mark and I are very selective in who we'll accept for students. We probably have about six or seven who come to all the shows, and probably about another dozen who will do just a few each year. They have to really want to learn to ride, and to improve. The shows are just a test of what you know, and a chance to see how well you've learned your technique. In addition, we are a breeding operation. We're always bringing on our young stock, and buying prospects for resale. Percy, here, as a matter of fact, was originally purchased as a Gran Prix Jumper prospect."  
  
Benton watched the horse pull and snort as Jonny began to wrap his legs. He was amazed yet again at the patience Jonny showed with the big, high strung animal; never losing his temper. It seemed so out of place for his normally cocky, and quick to act, son. Abby growled at Percy, "Stand!", and the horse subsided, allowing Jonny to finish with a minimum of fuss. Benton just shook his head in amazement, as Jonny led Percy away.  
  
Abby grinned. "Not what you expected, is it?"  
  
Benton grinned back ruefully. "No, not at all. I'm really impressed. With all of it, and especially with Jonny." He paused for a minute, then went back to the original subject. "So did Percy not work out as a Gran Prix prospect?" Benton had watched a Gran Prix this week. He was astounded at the height of the jumps, and the difficulty of the courses in general.  
  
"Oh, no," Abby laughed. "He's still a Gran Prix prospect. Only now he's one for your son."  
  
Benton looked at her aghast. "Oh, my . . . ." He shook his head. "I don't think my nerves will take it," he finished, thinking of the fast, risky, winning jumper rounds he'd watched his son ride the last few days.  
  
"Welcome to horse showing, Benton," was Abby's only response.  
  
Benton just shook his head in amazement. He was learning a lot. About horses, about himself, and about his son. But he was finding that in addition to liking the person his son was maturing into, he was constantly amazed at the amount of responsibility he was shouldering without so much as a protest. Benton was also discovering that he liked being 'just a father' for a change. He was going to have to work his schedule around to be sure he saw his son ride as much as possible. It was pretty impressive.  
  
* * * In mid September, Jonny was home in Maine taking a much needed break from the busy show schedule. The horses were housed in their new barn, getting a week or so off before beginning work again for the Indoor Circuit. Jonny sat curled up on the couch idly petting Bandit, munching on an apple, and reading the latest a magazine, when his Dad walked in, holding up a video tape for his son's inspection.  
  
"Mark Campbell sent this. It just arrived. I've been expecting it."  
  
Jonny looked in puzzlement at his father as he pushed the tape into the VCR. "Onto the big screen, IRIS."  
  
"Yes Dr. Quest," the soft voice agreed, and the big screen TV lit up.  
  
Jonny swung his legs over the side couch, moving to sit upright, and looked interested. If it came from Mr. Campbell, it ought to indeed be interesting. Benton sat down next to him, saying to him with a smile, "Mark has talked to me about buying a project horse for you. A young horse. Something you could bring along yourself. And I agreed. These are the prospects he's found that he thought you might be interested in."  
  
Jonny stopped chewing in amazement, then swallowed his bite whole, nearly choking himself in the process. He had to take a moment too process the comment, staring at his father in complete astonishment.  
  
"What?" Benton grinned at Jonny's shock. "Didn't think I could change?" Benton laughed. "I've learned a few things. Besides, I thought it sounded interesting. Lets see these 'projects'."  
  
Jonny beamed at his father, and was rewarded with another deep chuckle. Their relationship had healed a great deal over the summer during the time that just the two of them spent at the shows. Benton's obvious respect at what Jonny was doing, and how much he had accomplished had definitely helped. Plus, his father's effort at trying to be at most of the shows in order to see him ride had astonished and pleased Jonny, and had definitely sped up the healing process.  
  
They both turned their attention to the screen. There were three horses on the tape. A bright chestnut Thoroughbred-Dutch cross, with lots of 'chrome', that being four white socks and a huge white blaze, a plain, elegant, aristocratic looking bay thoroughbred, and a handsome, dark seal brown Westphalian with tiny white cornet bands on his front legs, that, aside from the white markings and the slightly heavier build, Jonny thought looked a lot like Percy. They were all lovely horses, which frankly, was what Jonny had come to expect from something Mark had put together. They were also all young, about three years old, and none really had a clue what they were doing. This was the fun of a young horse - trying to pick out the next champion before they were going. If you could, you had a real investment. If you couldn't, well, then, you did a lot of work for not a lot of return.  
  
After the tape ended, Jonny picked up the remote, and ran it through again, listening carefully to Mark Campbell's commentary. Then he played it a third time; this time pausing and running some of the frames through in slow. He took his time at it. Benton sat patiently, his arm over the back of the couch, watching his son, more than the horses on the screen.  
  
Benton was truly amazed at how gifted and dedicated Jonny was to this sport. He was good to the horses, treating them with compassion and caring, not like ribbon and prize money producing machines, as Benton had seen far more often than he'd like by some of the riders, both kids and professionals, at some of the shows they'd attended. Jonny seemed to have an innate sense when his horses were trying their best and had nothing left to give or just plain didn't understand what he was asking. And then Jonny would just stop, loosen the reins and give them a pat, then get off, with the clear attitude that tomorrow was another day. And the horses gave him 110 percent in return, and then some. It was really a true partnership.  
  
Jonny had also helped Benton to see the horses as individuals with clear, distinct personalities, rather than just a mode of transportation. Jonny was also athletic and fit, two absolutely necessary traits to do what he was doing. And the technical aspect of jumping horses never failed to amaze Benton. The more he understood for the sport, the more he realized the analytical skills as well as the physical skills it took too excel in it. The maturity Benton saw in his son over the last year made him proud. Not only had Jonny overcome adversity, but had grown beyond it, to truly become his own person. And Benton liked that person very, very much.  
  
Finally, Jonny shut off the tape and looked at his father.  
  
"Made up your mind?"  
  
Jonny nodded.  
  
Benton smiled. "Then you'd better call Mark."  
  
Jonny looked at Benton in puzzlement. That wouldn't work. Frankly, Jonny didn't like one sided conversations on the phone. They were kind of senseless. He'd found that e-mail and instant messaging was the best form of communication. He and Mr. Campbell communicated lots that way.  
  
Benton turned serious. "That's the deal, son. Mark wants to hear it from you. In your own words. I let him know the tape was here. He's waiting by the phone right now." Benton reached over for the cordless phone and put it into Jonny's lifeless hands, then moved over closer to Jonny, in order to put his arm across his son's shoulders, while looking at the suddenly white face. "You can do this, Jonny. I know you can. You've accomplished so much this year. You're amazingly strong, and I'm so incredibly proud of you. And even if you never spoke another word in your life, I'd be okay with that. But I know you wouldn't be. You've never put limitations on yourself, and you never should. I learned so much about you this year. You're brave, and intelligent, and have just good, plain, common sense. You can do this. It's time. Go ahead a dial the number." Benton nodded at the phone, while giving his son's shoulder a squeeze.  
  
At Benton's last words, Jonny gave a convulsive shudder. He couldn't do this. He knew he couldn't. His smart mouth had gotten him into so much trouble over the years. He just couldn't do it. But his fingers were unsteadily dialing the phone number that Benton had written, and left plainly on the coffee table for him to see, with a mind of their own. He messed up the number once, because of his shaking fingers, and then a second time. Benton's hand came down on top of his, quieting the motion for a moment. "Take a deep breath, Son. It's okay. Deep breaths."  
  
Jonny tried desperately to comply. But he was shaking so badly. And he could feel the silent tears streaming down his face. He dropped the phone in his lap, crossed his arms at his abdomen, and leaned over, curling up, with his head down, weeping silently. Benton's arm tightened around him, giving him support, but not letting him off the hook. Jonny couldn't believe his father was making him do this. No horse was worth it. His Dad hadn't changed at all. Not at all. Jonny had tried to talk before, but he just couldn't force the words past his mouth. Now his father was just betraying him again.  
  
But another voice deep down murmured softly to him that his father was right. He wasn't betraying him. It wasn't about the horse, or weakness, or anything else. It was about facing your demons. Like looking down the ring at a big fence that you were scared shitless of. But still giving your horse the positive, confident ride it took to inspire your mount, make him feel safe, and get the job done. And Jonny knew, deep down, that that was exactly what his father and Mark Campbell had cooked up. A new horse was just the motivator.  
  
Jonny shook convulsively again, then straightened and reached for the phone once more. He could hear his father's soft 'good boy' breathed in his ear, just the way he'd hear Abby or Mr. Campbell talking soothingly and encouragingly to their horses. He'd like to be able to talk to Tara, Percy, and the new one, that way. He was missing such a positive aid by staying silent. The only person he was crippling was himself.  
  
Jonny gathered his courage again, and dialed the number, once again screwing it up, but before he could lose his temper in frustration, Benton placed his hands over his, and gently guided him in dialing. "It's okay, Son; you can do this," were whispered encouragingly into his ear, as Benton helped him to dial the long distance number. Maine to California. You couldn't get too much farther than that, a part of him noted.  
  
Jonny took a deep breath, and help the phone up to his ear, as he made out the ringing. It rang just once, before it was picked up. Mr. Campbell must have been sitting on the phone, a dispassionate part of Jonny noted in amusement.  
  
"Hello?" Mr. Campbell's soft gentle drawl eased Jonny, and he closed his eyes and steeled himself to respond. "Hello?" And a pause.  
  
Jonny opened his mouth and took a breath, and started to form the words when an explosion went off inside his head, and he was back in the cabin on the Oregon side of the Cascade Mountains. Jonny quickly dropped the phone, and leaned over again, this time retching, clutching his abdomen, and throwing up everything he'd eaten in the last 12 hours onto the carpet, while vaguely hearing his father saying quickly on the phone, "We'll call you right back", then calling for Race, as he could hear the byplay in his head once again from that day, so long ago. All the words and hurt he'd managed to block out for so long, and desperately tried to forget.  
  
"Shut UP kid. You've got a big mouth, you know that?"  
  
Jonny had just smiled tightly, from where he was bound, and as usual, walked right in where angels feared to tread. "Yeah, I've been told that." By my Dad, Race, my teachers, my friends, and anybody else who felt compelled to share their opinion with me . . . Jonny thought to himself in disgust. "But you may as well let me go. I've told you that my Dad's not going to pay the ransom. I'm worthless to him. He's made that pretty clear to be over the last while. Besides, you've worn masks this whole time. It's not like I've seen you or anything. You'll be off scot free." Jonny was bargaining desperately at this point. He KNEW his Dad didn't care, and that he and Race were absolutely furious with him, and that frankly, after this little stunt, they'd probably wash their hands and send him off to boot camp, boarding school, military school, or something like that for good. But after they'd rescued him. Jonny didn't doubt they'd do at least that. He hoped.  
  
"Yeah, well, kid, you're right on that, you know." Another voice joined the first, as a livid man stalked into the cabin ripping off his mask. Jonny looked up in shock at the obvious ringleader of this operation, and his now easily recognizable face. He'd been banking on the fact that they had never taken off their masks . . . but now . . . The man looked at him in complete and total rage, then reached over and backhanded him across the face. Hard. Jonny's head swam, and he tasted blood.  
  
"You and your mouth, kid. You were right about your old man, though. He doesn't care one bit. We can do whatever we want to you, now. And I've put up with way too much from you not to want some satisfaction." At this point, the unmasked man picked up a two by four, and hefted it like a baseball bat, as Jonny struggled to take in the words. He knew his Dad didn't care, but he never thought he just abandon him, regardless of what he'd told the kidnappers.  
  
"Jeb? What're you talking about?" The man who had been originally talking to Jonny asked the newcomer fearfully.  
  
"It's exactly like Junior here said. His old man doesn't care." With that, he swung the two by four hard, catching Jonny across the ribs, venting his rage at Jonny's actions and words of the past day and a half. The escape attempts, and the cocky, barbed words. Jonny was knocked off the bench he'd been propped up on, landing, stunned, on the floor. But he could still hear, unfortunately. He struggled up to a sitting position, coughing up blood. He looked fearfully at the man wielding the board, and at the other two, taking off their masks. To Jonny's amazement, the one who had always remained quiet was a just a couple of years older than himself.  
  
"But Dad . . ." the kid said to the man standing over Jonny, "you said we'd be rich . . ."  
  
Jeb gave a hard, mirthless laugh. "Yeah, guess I thought all fathers cared about their sons, at least a little bit. I was obviously wrong."  
  
Jonny opened his mouth to say something, to try to talk his way out of the situation like he'd always been able to in the past, but Jeb saw.  
  
"NOTHING. Don't you say NOTHING you miserable little brat! I've listened to you mouth off for too long. Even gagging you didn't work. You and your silver spoon." The words were punctuated with kicks at any part of Jonny he could reach.  
  
Unfortunately, Jonny chose that moment for another typical Quest-type smart- ass remark. "Doesn't look like you did much better for your own son . . ."  
  
"SHUT. THE. HELL. UP!" Jeb stormed. "I'll shut you up for good!" And he did just that, swinging the two by four at the side of Jonny's face in the way you'd wind up for a swing at a major league pitch. And despite Jonny's ducking, the blow connected with the left side of his face, shattering his jaw, just that easily. And Jeb accomplished the job he'd intended too. Jonny hadn't spoken since.  
  
"It's okay, Son. You're all right. You're here at the compound. You're safe. Come on back to me, Jonny." The words drew Jonny back out of the hellish memory, back into the family room at his father's house, where he continued to heave his guts out all over the carpet. Benton's arms were wrapped tightly around him, as Jonny finished dry retching.  
  
Benton eased his son back up to a sitting position, and tried to get him to drink some water that Race had just handed him.  
  
Jonny choked for a second on the water, as he came back to his surroundings. He closed his eyes, and leaned against his father as the vividness of the memories receded. As Jonny slowly calmed down, Benton eased him upright again, and got him to drink some more water. Then he put the phone in his hands again, as Jonny looked up at him in exhaustion.  
  
"This is important for you, Jonny." Benton told his son. "I hate to do this to you, but you really need to do this. And it's Mark on the other end. He thinks the world of you, just like I do. He'll never hurt you. It will be okay. Go ahead. I'll be right here."  
  
Jonny just nodded, having no idea how his father knew exactly the right things to say, and stumbled over dialing, once more. He looked up at his father, who smiled kindly, and quickly dialed the number for him. Once again, Jonny heard the phone ring  
  
Once again, Mark Campbell picked up the phone, desperately worrying over what scene was playing itself out at the Quest Compound. Whatever it was, he prayed it worked. "Hello?"  
  
There was long silence broken only by soft, unmistakable pops of a long distance line, then a soft voice, stuttering after the years of silence, speaking nearly inaudibly, ". . . M . Mr. . . . Camp . . . bell?"  
  
"Yes, Jonny. This is Mark. It's terrific to hear your voice. Did you pick out a horse?" The smile on Mark Campbell's face was huge, and Abby grinned in return, from where she had sat with the Morris's, worrying, and wondering how this would work out.  
  
Jonny closed his eyes and concentrated on trying to form the words, not realizing that his father and Race were holding their breaths. ". . .Y . . e . . s."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
Benton finally remembered to breath, and with a smile for his son, whispered quietly for him to do the same.  
  
Jonny took a breath, and concentrated, and managed to stutter out, ". . . the . . . bay . . ."  
  
Mark's surprise was apparent. "Really. Why? Not that I doubt your choice - I just expected you to choose the flashy chestnut."  
  
Mark waited patiently for Jonny to try to get his body to formulate the words that for so long had been his defense against getting hurt again, and from having to re-live the trauma. If he didn't say anything, then nobody would have a reason for hurting him. Jonny knew it was bogus, but that seemed to have little impact on how his body reacted.  
  
" . . . confor . . . mation's . . . better . . . 'an . . . more aris . . . aristo. . cratic. He . . . he thinks . . . he's . . . the . . . best."  
  
Mark laughed, agreed, "Good eye you've got there, Jonny. And you're right. He's definitely the best of a very nice bunch. He'll make a top hunter. And Jonny?"  
  
" . . . huh? . . ."  
  
Mark could tell the effort each word took. "Congratulations. I'll let you go, and we'll catch up on e-mail. Alright?"  
  
" . . .'kay . . ."  
  
"Mark?" Dr. Quest's voice broke in before Mark Campbell could hang up.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Mark could hear the wealth of inflection in the man's voice. "Don't thank me. I'm just glad to be part of it. That's quite a son you've got there."  
  
"Yes, I know, and I thank you again, for everything." came the heartfelt reply.  
  
"I'll get the details worked up on the horse, and get back to you. My guess is that you probably have your hands full right now. Later." And he hung up.  
  
Benton put the phone down, and gently drew his exhausted son up onto his lap as he had done when he was a small child. But fourteen still wasn't that old, not really.  
  
Jonny didn't protest, wrapping his arms around his father's neck and burrowing his face into his shoulder, sobbing convulsively. Benton just offered what comfort he could, held him close, and let him be.  
  
As for Jonny, the remainder of the nightmare was playing out in his mind, but this time, he remained anchored in his surroundings. He'd had come around, later that night, to find the cabin in flames. The ropes were gone, but other than that, Jeb and his cronies had just abandoned him there to die. To be burned alive. Jonny had thought about staying, and letting himself die, but the survival instinct had kicked in, and he'd managed to claw his way out. Somehow, he found his way to the truck stop, close by the cabin - how, he had no idea to this day - it was still so hazy - and climbed aboard a rig whose back was open and unattended, and had passed out. Why he'd done that, and not gone for help, he really couldn't answer. By the time he'd come too again, he was in California, and managed to sneak out again without anybody seeing. It still made no sense to him, why he'd bothered with stealth. He just attributed it to shock  
  
A policeman had found him in a doorway, covered with drying blood, and taken him to an emergency room. To the rest of the world, Jonny Quest had been dead for two weeks by the time he finally awoke from the drug induced coma he'd been in. He'd had two surgeries, his jaw was wired shut, and he was on a ventilator due to the swelling in his throat. His face was so badly damaged, and it took so long for the swelling to go down and the bruises to fade, that nobody had put anything together between him, and Jonny Quest.  
  
The name 'Jordan Adams' had come from Jonny's attempt to write his name at the nurse's urging when he first woke up. Between the drugs, his broken wrist, and the trauma, his writing had been nearly illegible. When they asked if Jordan Adams was his name, after deciphering what they thought his signature read, he'd just nodded. It was as good as anything. He didn't really care anyway. He wasn't going to go home to people who hated him, and considered him worthless. So Jonny had just let life go by, because he was too tired, and too traumatized to do anything else, until he was placed at the farm by the California social system, where his life had changed forever.  
  
But now he was safe, and he was okay again. And once again, his father seemed to read his mind, murmuring over and over to him that he was safe, he was loved, and everything was all right. Jonny was content to just sit on his father's lap like a young child, gradually calming, listening to the reassurances, and to make up for time gone by and missed.  
  
* * *  
  
"No, Jess! Heels down, legs right at the girth - there're too far back." Jonny laughed at Jess as she struggled to ride in the correct position at the posting trot. Tara had completely tuned her out long ago and just jogged around Jonny on the lunge line, her breath showing as puffs in the chilled air, thinking this was probably the easiest job she'd ever had in her life.  
  
"Easy for you to say, Buster!" Jessie grumbled as she did her best to comply.  
  
"That's better. Now that your leg position is okay, you can straighten up your upper body."  
  
Jessie's response was a heartfelt groan.  
  
"Yes, Jessie. You are much too far forward."  
  
"Shut up, Hadji. You aren't helping."  
  
"Well, you assist Jonny while he is instructing me. I thought I could assist him instruct you," Hadji answered with a laugh, as he sat on the fence of the outdoor arena, bundled up against the cold of the mid November day, and adding his own comments.  
  
Race laughed at that comment, from where he and Benton were leaning casually on the arena rail, further down from the kids, enjoying the byplay. Life was finally settling into a normal pattern. "Jonny's doing much better. He's talking a lot easier now." Race observed.  
  
Benton agreed. "Giving Jessie and Hadji riding lessons the last few weeks, now that the show season is essentially over, has really helped, I think. He has to communicate verbally." Benton was more relieved than he could say. It was becoming clearer, that over time, Jonny was getting more and more comfortable talking again, although it had been a long, slow process. They only had to remind him once in awhile now, to 'use words'.  
  
Jonny still hadn't managed to be able to tell them what had happened during the kidnapping, and according to the psychiatrist Benton had consulted, he might never be able to do so. But he had come far enough that he had been able to type out a statement, traumatic as that act had been for him. It had been a solid four days before he would say a word after finishing it, and Benton had been seriously worried. But that was now in the past, and the statement, added with the medical records from California, had helped to convict the kidnappers on the new charges of attempted murder and assault, adding many years to their sentences in Oregon, to Benton's intense relief.  
  
An explosion of bucking from a nearby paddock surprised all of them, except Tara, who kept going in her plodding circle. The bay horse, who had arrived in Maine a little over two months previous, galloped off across his pasture with his blankets flapping, clearly enjoying the frigid, gloriously sunny, November morning. Percy, in a adjoining paddock, lifted his head from grazing, then took off to run the fence line next his stable mate, with his tail flagged over his back.  
  
Benton shook his head at the antics, while Race snorted. "Man, can that bay horse buck!"  
  
"I'd have to agree. Jonny informs me that often if a horse is a good jumper, he tends to have a good buck in him, too. But they'd just as soon never see it. Frankly, the few times I've seen him buck like that with Jonny on him, have given me more than a few more gray hairs."  
  
Race shook his head in amusement, and laughed again at the scene in front of him as Tara gave what sounded suspiciously like a martyred, human sigh, clearly wanting to be out running and playing with her buddies. "Tara sure doesn't look that lazy and plodding when Jonny's on her."  
  
"No, she doesn't." Benton laughed as well. "Do you think Jessie's going to get hooked on this?"  
  
Race shrugged. "Who can tell? I've given up trying to figure these kids out. But, honestly, given several comments she's made, I think she's finding it far more work than she thought it would be. She's also discovering the amount of time, dedication and concentration, that it takes. I think she's less interested now that she's seen the reality of the sport. So, while I think she's enjoying learning something new, I don't think she's driven to it. She's made several comments that it's a whole lot harder than she had thought it would be. I get the feeling she'd be happier just galloping on the Wildey's ranch once in a while, and spending the rest of the time in the lighthouse. But she is happy to have her game partner back."  
  
Benton smiled. "Yes, it's been nice to see Jonny back in the computer lab again. I've learned my lesson, though. Only when he wants to do it. And it's pretty clear it will always be second place to the barn." Benton shook his head again in amazement. "Who would have guessed it. Jonny and horses. Never in my wildest dreams."  
  
"Never predictable, our kids," Race responded.  
  
"Nope, never a dull moment."  
  
The two men fell silent, enjoying the peaceful early winter morning, and the rich laughter of their children. 


End file.
